Dawns of Another Day
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: I'd once heard that women chose men who are most like their fathers. I know this will never happen to me, because nobody is like my father. Nobody could be like my father. No one could willingly cause so much pain and suffering, except for my father. Draco/OC.
1. An Ending to Start With

**Dawns of Another Day**

**All Character belong to JKR, save for the OC who narrates. This is a general disclaimer for all chapters henceforth.**

**Endings to Start With**

I'd once heard the women chose men who are most like their fathers. I know this will never happen to me, because nobody is like my father. Nobody _could_ be like my father. No one could willingly cause so much pain and suffering, except my father.

I don't think he was ever taught what pain and suffering meant. No, I take that back. He understood them perfectly-that's why he was so good at what he did. He transformed torture into an art form. He made is look beautiful, seductive. The blood, the screams, the withering….it was simply part of the show, details in the sculpture. My father could give pain like no one else, because he meant it. I remember, when I was eight, how he explained it to me.

"_They need to feel your rage, Keturah." _He had said, seriously. _"You make them comprehend that their life is going to end, but first you are going to show them just how horrifying it can be." _

Profound things for an eight-year-old to be thinking about, let alone discussing with her father. He taught me these things, but never expected me to ever use them. I was not destined to be any sort of warrior, or even an heir. When you're planning on living forever, there is no point in having heirs. Father taught me these things for the sake of teaching me, I suppose. When I thought about it, I guess he had hoped that I could be his right-hand-man, of sorts. Then it turned out I wasn't a man. But that wasn't my fault.

He named me Keturah. Since it was probably a creation of his own, I have no idea what it means. It didn't really matter. It was just a name. He was the only one who called me "Keturah", anyways. The rest of the time it was "My Lady" or some other formality from the people around. The few, the proud, the whimpering Death Eaters. Around that lot, I felt like a princess. I was respected like no one else. And I could tell, I was the only one who wasn't afraid of my father. I respected him, but I could not fear him.

"_Ah, Keturah." _He would say upon my entrance. _"My dear, we were discussing the little problem of the Order of the Phoenix. They have far too much pull over the public. What say you?"_

Or, _"My dear, Malfoy apparently thought handing out my personal possessions to blood-traitor Griffindors was a valid method of distribution. Shall I explain to him the flaws in that method of thinking?" _

Now that I'm older I understand that his parenting skills fell more than a little short. He may or may not have loved me. I could have been a mistake. I may or may not have been his child. However, that didn't matter. Not then. I was the Dark Lord's daughter, and that meant the world.

My birth is a bit of a mystery. My mother was someone completely unknown to me. The only thing I was told was _"She's dead, she was a loyal follower, she loved you." _Narcissa told me these things, when I was a child. She was the only sort of Mother-figure I had, but even then my experiences with her were brief. My real mother had been selected for the task of procreating with the Dark Lord. She did it, and then died before I became two years of age. According to my father, I look nothing like her, instead resemble him greatly with my dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.

"_You would have done well at Hogwarts. And I would have let you go, had that muggle-loving fool not been the Headmaster."_

"_What were your years at Hogwarts like?" _

"_Me? Ah, my dear, I was the most talented student to go through that hole. I received more than a few rewards for services to the school, I was Head Boy, and after I left I could have gotten a job anywhere…I did very well for myself, Keturah."_

"_Do you think I could have been as great?"_

"_Oh, yes." _He hissed.

The other side told me that he was heartless. Supposedly he didn't know how to love, had, in fact, never loved or been loved by anyone. They said he had merely been a power-hungry psycho. Derranged. Defective. Mad.

When they told me these things, I didn't know what to say. My father was not a lovable, cuddly person. He never tucked me in at night, sang me songs, or hugged me. He rarely showed affection. I had been essentially raised by his followers, seeing as he had been missing for fifteen years of my life. All the things one uses to mark the measures of love he had failed to show. He was, mostly, a prominent figurehead. We had intellectual discussions, not heart-to-heart chats. He taught me curses, not how to read. He revealed to me ways to read a persons' mind and how to hide away my own, but he never showed me how to dance. My father gave me great books of learning and certainly never read them to me.

Did he love me? Perhaps. I shall never know now, though, shall I?

**-XXX-**

At the very least, he was fond enough of me to keep me around and teach me. He wasn't unnecessarily cruel. I never saw him as "an evil, manipulative git" as they called him on the other side. He was "Father", who could be mean at times, but was, for the most part, indifferent.

Ash and smoke pour into the sitting room in a small _"poof" _as the woman fell through the fire place. She stands, dusting herself off as she clung to the marble mantle.

_"He's dead!" _her sobs echoed through the great, nearly-empty manor. _"The Dark Lord is _dead!"

The few women that sit with me in the parlor of Malfoy Manor were silent for approximately thirty seconds, then they begin screaming to high hell. I wince, waiting for them to stop. When something resembling silence resumes, I stand from my armchair.

"Explain yourself, Lidana." My voice is considerably firm for a girl who has lost her father. "How can the Dark Lord be dead."

"The Potter boy!" She shriekes. "He did it. He killed-he k-killed—"

"Enough," I snap.

The assembly of women surrounding me began to babble once more. A crowd of Death Eater wives had been selected to sit with me as we waited for the sedge on the school to play itself out. Mrs. Gibbon, Mrs. Baddock, Mrs. Flint, Mrs. Higgs, Bastia Yaxley, Mrs. Zabini, and Nott's mother all sit around me. Lidana Travers quivers where she stands, soot lining the hem of her dress. She is indeed distraught. Most are crying, sobbing even.

"How can you be sure?" I demand. "Did you see it?"

"No, but Rabastan managed to flee from the Order to tell me and the others. I was able to evade them to tell all of you. They've out numbered us. He is dead!" She wailes.

I roll my eyes. Cliché. "I will not believe it until I see him with my own eyes." I announce. "Where are the others? Bella? Malfoy?"

"Oh," Lidana moans. "Malfoy has betray us! Bella is…is dead. The blood traitor Wesley killed her!"

At this I pause. Bellatrix was my father's most loyal, most favoured follower. Dead? How?

"We…we must stay calm." I say. "Those remaining will return for us, I am sure."

"Or the Order will." One woman murmurs.

The Order of the Phoenix, the heartless bastards that worked against my father? Would they really try to take us? Looking from face to face, I realize there is no way we could go against the Order, or even trained Aurors. Our outlook is bleak. These pampered women know nothing of defense. _What can I do?_

"I will message Rodolphus." I say in a loud voice. I feel like jelly, like I'm a damn about to break, but I stay solid. "If there is no response…we will go from there."

Turning to one arched window, I prepare cast my spell. Closing my eyes, I recall the feast prior to the invasion of the castle. Draco had smiled at me when Father wasn't looking, even though it wasn't a time for smiling. "_Expecto Patronum!" _

My silver Lanner falcon flies from my wand to suspend itself in the air. "Go to Rodolphus." I tell it. "'Is the Dark Lord truly dead? Do you need aid?' Now go!"

Looking out the window, I see that is it just past dawn. A strip of electric pink is on the horizon, with a flashy gold directly below it. A new day. A new beginning.

I look back to the weeping women. "If no one answers, go home."

The women stare. Lidana is the first to speak. "What?"

"You need to return home. Don't you see? If you are all found here together, think how incriminating that will be? If you are found in your separate homes, with your families, you are unlikely to be suspected. If anyone manages to escape, they will find you.

I will give the patronus ten minutes. If I get no response, you must leave."

"What about you?"

Surprised again, I open my mouth without thinking. "Me?"

"Where will you go?"

"I will stay here." I lie.

"Really," says Ms. Zabini. "This will be the first place they will look, Keturah." Her eyes tell me that I should know better. I examine her perfect black curls instead of looking at the message clear in her eyes. "Someone ought to stay with you."

"For protection?" I snort. "I am sorry Madam, but I am capable enough to defend myself from twenty Order Members. They surely will not send more than six. I will be fine. Truly."

A defiant silence follows. Whoever said Slytherins only cared for themselves? I tell myself it is fear of my father that causes them to think twice. If, perhaps, he has not passed on, these women would pay dearly if they left me to fend for myself.

"Nobody knows I exist. I will be fine."

It takes some more convincing, but they finally agree. By that time more than fifteen minutes have passed. And no return patronus had shown itself. They leave by apparition, because I won't allow them to leave my Floo. I insist that by now the networks were already in Order control. They leave in twos and threes to split up once they reached their next destination. I would at least make it a little difficult for the Order.

Venus Zabini is the last to leave. She takes my hands. I stiffen. Nobody touches me so freely. With my father supposedly dead, the rules have changed. Can I rely on my bloodlines to save me? To protect me from these ruthless people?

"Do not be a hero." Mrs. Zabini tells me, squeezing my hand. "Save yourself, Keturah. His Lordship would have wanted that."

"Yes," I say, going to the window as she disappears into the flames. The fountain's water glimmers in the morning light. "but he is gone now."

**-XXX-**

**To all my WTVC and Red Sky reader, I am so sorry. This is actually nearly completely written so I won't be away for long. But, the story just gomped the heck out of me and wouldn't let go!**

**I do hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Ms. Zabini, who is nameless in the books (not to mention never seen) has been dubbed Venus here, in reference to her multiple marriages. Falcons: Soul Healing, Accompanying the Soul Back to the Soul World, Teaching Swiftness, Controlling Speed and Movement, Understanding Magick, Astral Travelling, Healing, which is why I choose one for her patronus. **

**Keturah is 19, was born in 1979, and a complete OC. I'm practically queen of them, it seems.**

**I've done as much research as possible, worked in symbolism into nearly every darn stitch of this story, and have edited only three times!**

**Please, if you have any questions, comments, or just a general review, I would love to hear from you.**


	2. Fate Often Sneaks

**Dawns of Another Day**

**Fate Often Sneaks**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

I am left in an empty house. Alone. For good.

I'm unsure as to whether or not I should be miserable. I will miss my father a great deal, but he would have never wanted me to waste the energy it would take to mourn. He would rather the time be spent escaping. However, an escape is not yet in the plan.

So, I resume my position by the fire, book in hand, and wait for some time. Hours pass. Then a day. I sleep most of the time, or read. I'm anxious, but not out of fear. Even if the Malfoys betray "us", they did not betray me. I'm friends with the Malfoys, they would ensure my safety if they returned to the Manor. If, instead, a group of Aurors come sniffing about…well, I have my options.

It is the morning of the second day. I begin to go over my options.

There is no record of my birth. My name was taken off the Hogwarts registry. I've never visited St. Mungo's. There are no records of me, not in the Magical world nor the Muggle one. On paper, I do not exist. Convenient, for the most part.

If the Order were to come here, and if they were to find me before I could leave, they would simply find a girl with no record, no history, and no suspicious links. This means I could slip into a life that would be easy. I could assimilate. I could live with friends who liked me for me, not feared me because of what my father is. Was. I could have choice! Father had given me this gift, at the very least.

Or I could run. Fight be damned, I could fly. I could leave, go to the Riddle House. I could live there. It may be searched, for Potter knows of its existence. I am willing to take that risk. I need shelter, protection, and it is a familiar place, with strong it's closer to civilization than I'd like to be, it's home. A big, empty, vast home. Father took me there a handful of times after he officially ended my residence there.

"_Simple muggle dwelling." _He growled. _"But it is mine. My father's."_

"_Your father was a—"_

"_Yes." _He hissed, swirling around to face me, marching menacingly close. It is something he does not like point out, nor does he like hearing it. _"I was half-blood."_

"_Was?"_

"_When you're not-quite-human,"_ His voice turned soft. _"Your blood is not anything anymore." _

Could he really be dead? Truly? That did not seem possible. Even in the years that he was missing, we knew him to be alive. Just...not there. The idea of him dying seems impossible, unfathomable. I know there was a world before my father, but a world after him?

"_Do not be silly." _A voice says. _"You can survive without me."_

I stand stock-still, not entirely sure the words were solely in my mind. Though I sound very stupid, I ask "Father?"

"_Yes, girl, who else would it be?"_

"I don't know. Santa Claus?" I snap. There is silence and I'm scared that I've lost him.

"_You were never this cheeky before I died."_

"I would have been slapped if I was."

"_Fair enough."_

I hesitate before inquiring, but it needs to be asked. "Am I going crazy?"

"_Now why ever would you think that, Keturah?"_

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because my _dead_ father is speaking to me in my head. But you're right, that's no reason for concern."

"_Do you not trust yourself?"_

"Is this coming from me?"

He is silent, and doesn't speak again.

This encounter does not help my decision as to whether or not I stay or flee. I had hoped by now that the Malfoys might be back, but alas. No, I am entirely alo-

I hear a thud from outside, and a _"huff"_-ing noise. Uncertain as to its origins, I creep to the nearby window.

Standing beside the lavish gate are five people—a tall, fierce-looking man of African descent, a stout red-headed fellow who looks a tad green around the gills, a short, bushy-haired girl probably only a little younger than myself, a dark haired boy who can only be the famous Potter and… Draco. The tall man, whom I now realize is the Kingsley so many of the younger set of Death Eaters feared, has Draco by the scruff of the neck. Whatever he is saying to him must be more than a little threatening, because Draco nods fervently, and leads the way up the drive.

Suddenly, I realize what is happening. They are investigating the Manor. And I am still in it.

I had over-estimated the amount of time I had left.

I dash upstairs. Charming my door open, I grab the leather saddle bag I arrived with and begin stuffing my essential belonging into it. Things like clothes, money, and soap (Riddle House honesty had none last I visited). It takes me less than two minutes. But two minutes is not enough. I swing toward the door, and hear this:

"The worst of it is in the dungeon and wine cellar. And there are a few books in the library that you might find…interest." Draco's drawl is unmistakable.

"_Hide! Stay here, in this room." _My father's voice commands.

I do as he says, throwing myself under the bed. A bit childish, really, but who would look there? Before I do anything else, I cast a Disillusionment Charm upon myself. I shut my eyes, counting. As big as the Manor is I can still hear four sets of feet walking throughout the house.

"Charlie!" Once voice cries. It's the girl. I think its Granger, the muggle-born everyone despises so. My father said she was the smartest of Potter's gang. "Nobody is here, but I found this set of poisonous candles, and a skull I think you should see."

The stairs creak. Someone is walking up them, slowly, as if to surprise. I hold my breath. My room is on the second floor, the last room on the left, overlooking the dreary gardens.

"Hey, Malfoy!" I think it's Potter this time. "Where are you going?"

The breath escapes me.

"I was just going to use the facility, Potter." I can almost hear the sneer in his voice, and that causes me to smile. "Unless you would like to come hold my hand for that experience too, I suggest you continue your search."

"Oh, fine then. Just remember. We have—"

"I know, I comprehended the little lecture I received this morning." Malfoy continues his trek.

At this point I have choices that need to be made. Do I stay at let them find me? Or should I leave? Surely they've placed a restriction on the Manor by now—no Floo, at the very least. Draco is probably looking for me right now, as I cower beneath this bed. If I let myself be revealed, I have some explaining to do, questions I can't possibly answer. My chances of escape are slim, but I'd rather at least _try_. I'd like to think that my fate is in my own hands but until I leave the Order members' presence it's not.

My bedroom door opens slowly, being guided by one pale hand. He remembers that it squeaks. Draco enters, scanning the room. He opens the wardrobe, only to see that it is empty. Horrified, he closes the door and practically runs to the window. I had left it open, the sheer curtains fluttered in the early morning breeze. Draco looks to the ground below, letting out a breath of relief. My dead body was not lying sprawled out on the dewy grass.

Draco continued his search, looking in the bathroom and behind curtains. Finally, he sits upon the bed. "Where are you?"

Now that he is closer, I can see the shadows beneath his eyes, the crusted black blood on his busted lip. One eye is dark with a bruise, with another stain along the right side of his jaw, yellowing sickly. Scratches on his pale neck, scraps on his knuckles, burns upon his arms. He is in a terrible state, but clean, and dressed comfortably. They've kept the entire family back for questioning. Draco must have been let out to give the Order a private tour of the Manor.

Silent, I slip out from underneath the bed, taking the bag with me. Which, I find out, has not beendisillusioned. _Shit. _I take a moment to charm it and walk to the door. When I look back to Draco, I shiver. This is the only part I regret. With my father gone, we had a chance.

My second of misery weakens the spell. I can feel it—I'm not nearly as transparent, I'm slowly turning opaque. Gritting my teeth, a few words Father once said come back:

"_Your magic is ruled by your emotion. This is why anyone receiving Crucio from an enemy feels the curse so deeply. Anger fuels the spell. Likewise, any spell you cast that requires your energy will change with your emotional state. Your magic is only good if you keep a clear head." _

My head isn't exactly clear. Taking a breath as quietly as I can, I refocus. Something snaps into place and, once again, I am invisible. I don't glance at Draco again as I open the door and slip through. Here we are, going through our own personal hells in the same room, unknown to each other, as usual. How very typical.

By some marvelous fate, Draco leaves less than ten seconds after me. When I turn to continue going down the hall, he makes a right to exit down the stairs. Just as his hand hits the railing, he pauses and turns around. I stop as well, looking back at him. _"Goodbye."_

Suddenly, he changes his mind and follows me down the hall. Considering he has longer legs, it is rather fortunate that I manage to stay a few feet in front of him as he trails me. At one point he reaches out as if to grab something in the air directly before him. Me. I pick up the pace. How could he possibly know? I turn sharply to the right, into the open door of a guest room. Draco pauses in the middle of the ornate hall. By some miracle, he continues behind me, closing the door.

"They have a traces on me." He speaks softly, stepping directly in front of me. "If you are planning on apparating away, I beg you, wait for me. Keturah, stay."

Frightened, I back myself into the wall, my arms hitting with a resounding _"thud". _Draco walks with me, matching every step. His hands go to the wall, on either side of my head, effectively preventing me from moving.

"_Deletrius."_ The wand he uses is not his own 10 inch, light-coloured hawthorn. It is a dark, longer switchy thing with a silver restrictment band on the tip.

With the utterance of the spell, my disillusionment charm falls away, melting like a shell of wax. I gasp, pressing myself closer to the wall, refusing to meet Draco's eyes. With a firm hand, he pushes my head forward and pointedly stares straight into my pupils. _"Hear me out."_

"Draco," I whisper swiftly. "They can't catch you with me, you need to go."

"And leave you here, alone?"

My silence is enough of answer.

"You weren't planning on staying." It is not a question. "Where would you go?"

"The Riddle House." I reply automatically, regretting it automatically. Should he be forced to answer where any other allies to the Dark Lord reside, I could be in for it.

Draco cringes. The house is run down, dusty and nearly rotting. Once as grand as the Manor we stand in now, the house's glory days have come and gone. Worst of all, it resides near a muggle village. Even the graveyard in the front lawn is more appealing than the muggle population—to Draco, at the very least. I am not entire prejudice against muggles. I've never met one, therefore I have no impression of them.

"You could stay."

"How? Even if they do not know who I am, who I'm related to, it will only be a matter of days before they figure it out. "

"My family will return in a week. We're getting immunity —our only surveillance are traces and wand restictments. No guards, no Azkaban, nothing. You could be safe here. Stay here, hide, and no one would know."

"Draco…"

"Stay."

"I shouldn't. I won't. This isn't the last search, you know."

This stops him. He knows that anyone with common sense would perform random, unannounced searches for at least the first five years. There was no way they could hide me.

"Pose as a maid," He suggests. By now I'm off the wall, standing with my arms crossed. "that is fairly inconspicuous."

"A maid? The Malfoys, who have used house elves for generations, suddenly get a human maid?"

"It could work. We could make it look like we did it to get in with Granger."

"Then who would clean the house? Surely not you." It is a childish, desperate idea. I love him for it. "Let me go. I'll come back, but right now I need to get out of here before they start wondering where you've disappeared to. Do you realize how dangerous this is? They're going to think you are hiding something, or trying to escape. "

"I don't care."

"You ought to!" I snap, pushing at his chest, shoving him away.

"Keturah…"

My voice becomes softer. "Why bother? Save your family. Tangling with the daughter of the Dark Lord is not going to dig you out of this grave you're put your reputation in."

"I told you, I don't care."

"_Malfoy!"_

From the foyer, I hear Potter's voice calling. His tone is tinged with anger.

"He doesn't like you much, does he?" I ask conversationally, leaning against the wall once more. To my great amusement, Draco curses and exits the room to stand on the top of the staircase.

"One moment, Potter."

"What are you doing?"

"Using the facilities."

"It has been ten minutes, Malfoy—"

"It's a big house, Potty. Takes a while to get to the toilet."

"Just hurry up."

"Fine."

Draco returns to the guest bedroom, closing the door with a slam. I snicker to myself quietly. He glares, but there is no malice behind it. Running long fingers through unusually messy hair, he sits on the edge of the bed. I hesitantly move closer, peering at him in the early morning gloom.

Over the last several months no one has exactly been in their prime. The Malfoys suffered the worst. They were out of favor with the Dark Lord and everyone knew it. Father had taken up residence in their house, which is enough to scare the wits out of anyone. Draco had fared worse than anyone else. He wasn't obviously mistreated, but rather mentally overwhelmed by Father. He struggled with what he was forced to do or watch. His opinion was asked frequently during meetings, not out of any regard for his judgment. His own parents were helpless to aid him, just watched as Draco deteriorated before their eyes. He lost sleep, ate less, lost his social nature.

The loss of sleep was what brought us together. I remember the first night.

-**XXX-**

**Okay, I cannot explain the weird bold thing. I've done everything to change it, but nothing is working, so I might retry and upload again later. **

**Reviews are very welcome!**


	3. We Run, We Fall

**Dawns of Another Day**

**We Run, We Fall**

_Three a.m. Letting out a low moan, I rub my eyes. Nightmares, again. For the seventh time this month, I sit up, push back the curtains surrounding the bed, and walk to the door. My room, or so Father says. He makes it sound like this is permanent arrangement. Riddle House has been my home for four years. I spent my infancy there, and then these last two years of my life. This Manor is not to be compared. _

_Standing on one foot to put on my slippers I open the door as quietly as possible, then pad down the hallway, down the servant staircase, across the grand foyer, through the hall, and into the library. The subtle scent of molding pages, new parchment, and old glue greet me. I wander between the shelves, running my fingers along the spines of huge tomes. _

_The Malfoy library is something I, as a scholar, can appreciate. Old, rare, out-of-print volumes reside on these dark chestnut shelves. Every book has a place here. There is an orderly catalogue nestled in the back of the room. Polished brass plates are nailed on to the shelves, engraved with the section name and call number. Looking down the rows they twinkle at me in the muted moonlight. I adore this room. The Malfoy ancestors were brilliant. Their vast collection has so far saved me from three months of boredom. _

_I discover that I am in the Herbology section. Having no objection, I stand back to scan the shelf. When I see a title that catches my eye, I summon the wheeled ladder. While I could simply summon the book itself, going through the effort of manually retrieving it feels more rewarding. I climb, grab the book, stuff it under my arm and climb down. When I turn around I find myself trapped by a pair of arms holding on to the brass handles of the ladder. Instead of screaming like a fool, something I feel inclined to do at this moment, I back up, uttering "Touch me, you'll find yourself missing a few favoured body parts."_

_There is the sound of a low _"tut" _and the idiot whispers: "What are you doing here oh-so-early?"_

_I duck and run. Or, rather, I duck and run halfway down the row, then trip because I'm wearing slippers. A few low chuckles come from the person now standing behind me. I feel him walk toward me. He rolls me over and helps me up, still shaking with silent laughter. Draco's gray eyes almost glow in the dark, taking in my volatile expression. His pale shock of hair has been tied back with a satin ribbon. Slightly girly. Now I had my own reason to laugh._

"_Do you mind?" I hiss, making an attempt to reclaim my hand, which he used in the effort to raise me from the floor. "Honestly, sneaking up on young women in the dead of night?"_

"_Sneaking? I made no attempts to sneak, madam." He scoffs. "Perhaps a young woman such as yourself shouldn't be sulking 'round the library at such a late hour." _

_Fuming, I yank my hand from his grasp. "I was not sulking. What are you doing in here? It's late for you, as well."_

"_It's my house." He smirks. "Even if you are an honored guest, I do not have to abide your questioning. Now, what are you doing in my library?"_

_I straighten. "I am not obliged to say." _

"_Come now, Keturah, we are friends."_

_Disgusting. He arrived at the Manor nearly a month ago, shortly following his father's failure to obtain a mysterious thing from the Ministry. Silent, forlorn, he wasn't exactly a joy to be around. For clear reasons—a newly imprisoned father, ridicule at school, his not-so-triumphant state of return (apparently a collection of Pro-Potter students had decided to show their dislike in a multitude of hexes, severely disabling Draco for a few hours). The first impression I had of this surly fellow wasn't at all favourable. Around my father he was very quiet, but when he figured out that I didn't curse people to kingdom come when slighted, he relaxed in my presence. Which is to stay, he acted like a total prick. _

_He's very handsome, something I'm certain he uses to his advantage. But all my years have taught me that looks do not always give away the true core of a person. He's looks very much like his father with his fair hair and pallid features. The structure of his bones are very aristocratic. The posture suggestions firm training. The grace is practiced, rehearsed. Unnatural. Not that I can say anything about that. My own father's face looks like something out of a muggle comic about mutants. _

"_Why are you up?" He tilts his head. "Nightmares haunting your dreams, Princess?" _

"_No." I say stiffly. "My dreams are always sweet and lovely. Filled with unicorns, rainbows, and my very own Prince Charming."_

_Draco stares for a few seconds, then busts out laughing. I can't resist. My own faint giggles mix with his. He was nearly on the floor, clutching his sides. I'm holding on to the nearest shelf for support. It is not really all that funny, but with the atmosphere of the house, you take any chance you can to laugh. The chortles finally subside, leaving out mingling pants. Gasping for air, Draco repositions himself._

"_You have a sense of humor." _

"_What did you expect? That I would be a heartless creature, unable to laugh?_

"_After knowing your father…"_

"_Even he has a sense of humor, though his is a different one." One that involves screaming, blood, begging. _

"_Tell me, Keturah." He drawls, standing. It seems as though he is not about to leave me in peace. He would much rather have a "What is it like, being the daughter of the Dark Lord?"_

"_I don't know." I say. It is a personal question, one only my closest friends would have a right to ask. If I really had any friends. Draco is the first person near my age I've seen for a very long time, but we are most certainly not friends. "He was gone for over half my life. I've only known him for four years, all together. I have little basis for any comparison."_

"_You haven't the slightest clue?"_

_I sigh. With the hope of making him go away, I reply. "I know that our relationship is unorthodox. He's not a father in the sense that he parent's me. I don't know, it's more like an unaffectionate mentoring relationship. We're more like business partners than family."_

"_Does it bother you?"_

"_Would bother you?" I counter. Draco merely gives me an _"Oh-really-just-throw-me-a-bone" _look_. _"No. He treats me with respect. We may not love each other, but that's not necessary."_

"_Not necessary?" He raises his eyebrows. "Most would disagree with you. You don't love him?"_

"_You probably love him more than I do."_

"_Right."_

_I smile. "Are you saying that you do not love his lordship? Tsk tsk."_

"_He even says himself that love is weak."_

"_Your aunt adores him. Many love him." He never returns that feeling. Draco is right, he does find it weak. I can agree with that outlook, for the most part. But he forgets, sometimes weakness isn't all bad._

_Draco shakes his head. "No—you mistake fear for love. Do you love anyone?"_

_I open my mouth, close it, then open it again. He sounds like a school girl at a sleep over. "I…would rather not answer."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because it is none of your concern." _

"_Keturah, it is a simple question." He says._

_Frowning, I shake my head. He would not get anymore answers out of me. Suddenly, I feel drained. I just want to be left alone. I came here with the hope of finding peace. Instead, I am attacked by this prat._

"_Please," I move away, examining one interesting title. "Go away?"_

_Surprised, Draco sits upon the bottom rung of the ladder, looking up at me. "Was that a 'please' I heard?"_

_I glare. "I'm not my father."_

"_That's good to hear." He grins, easing closer. "Because if you were, I wouldn't be able to do this." _

_Even though I had my wand out, he still caught me off guard. Before I can utter a decent Tripping Jinx, he's there, in front of me. He smiles when he sees my fear, but it's a gentle smile. Less than a second passes and he's kissing me. I stand frozen, unsure how to react. Oh, my. I exhale, allowing my lips to move along with his and my arms to come around his neck. My fingers brush the tips of his long, pale hair. Something about that makes him laugh against my lips. Once again I begin to laugh with him. Being the git he is, Draco lets him tongue slip out to trace my mouth. _

_His mouth is hot, like he's just used a Pepper Breath charm. Gods, he is definitely experienced. For me, however, it's my first. I'm uncertain, cautious. He senses this, and goes slowly before deepening the kiss. I'm the open who pulls him closer, though. _

_I finally stop him, careful to not hit my head on the shelf above men. Draco puts his head in the arch between my neck and shoulders, breathing heavily. _

"_You." I manage. "Are. . _Git!"

_Grinning, Draco lifts his head. "You don't really believe that, now do you?"_

"_Go away." I say. _

_He regards me for a moment. "I don't think you want me to."_

_I don't. My protests are feeble. He stays. We read there, in the library, side-by-side in the matching armchairs, until dawn._

"_This isn't happening again. We might be…friends, but I'm never putting myself in such a compromising position with you again." I explain sternly before we part ways._

"_Alright."_

_I want more than anything to slap that smirk off of his pallid, smug face. _

**XXXXXX**

"I am leaving." I say finally. "But I'll come back. When it's safe, for all of us."

He remains silent. Thinking, obviously. His face is smooth, devoid of any emotional features. I stroke his hair. Then, tentatively, I press my lips to his forehead.

"Bye, Draco." I whisper.

Once more, I cast my disillusionment charm. And I exit the room.

Had things gone as planned, I might have left the entire building within seconds. But of course Potter chose that exact moment to check on young Malfoy.

I hit his chest with a _"thud". _Potter looks down at the spot I hit, then up at the "empty air." For a moment I can see the wheels turning. He stares at Draco, perhaps thinking he had sent a spell toward him. But Draco's wand was in his pocket. His eyes were as wide as Potter's. The git is a terrible liar.

Before I am detected, I glide between the door and The Chosen One, then bolt for the stairs. By the time my foot hits the top step, Potter got it. He runs after me, yelling "_Deletrius!" _but the spell misses to rebound off one wall. His second one hits the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. Draco follows after him, aiming his spells away from me, trying to distract the hero that killed my father.

Running down the stairs is not advised. It is a dangerous activity that the clumsy are told to avoid. I've never been called clumsy, but nevertheless my stair-running skills leave much to be desired. Pain shoots through my body as when I hit the landing, halfway between the ground floor and the first floor. I let out a puff of breath, holding back the scream I ought to have cried. I roll over to look up, wincing as my ribs jostle. Potter's head is at the top of the stairway, eyes flickering to the landing. _"Deletrius!"_

I'm hit. I feel the cold of the Disillusionment charm being suck out of me. Suddenly visible, I struggle to stand, clutching my side. What I would give for a healing potion. "_Episkey." _I manage. Potter starts toward me. I dart down the stairs. Thank the gods my bag is slung across my shoulder, and I put an Anti-Cush Charm upon it last autumn. My foot finally, finally, hits the ground floor. Despite my pain I jog across the foyer to the front door. Kingsley and the Weasley at that moment exit the library with stacks of books in their hands, presumably those regarding the use of the Dark Arts.

"OIY, STOP HER!"

"_Protego!" _My silvery shield is conjured just as the stunning spells are thrown my way. Maintaining my charm, I walk out the Manor, stumbling down the steps. I let out a gasp when two more stunners hit my shield, pushing me forward. Then I run. The healing spell obviously didn't work, or, at least, it didn't heal everything.

Damn the Malfoys for their long drive. Damn Potter for trying to catch me. Damn Draco for not leaving me be. Damn my father, for dying and leaving me in this mess.

The gate is in my sight. Once I reach the gate, I can apperate.

Or not. The Kinsley, Weasley, and Potter are gaining on me, yelling for me to stop. Draco trails behind. He's never been a good runner.

"If you do not halt, we will be forced to stop you through force!" Kingsley's booming voice sounds from behind me.

If it didn't hurt so much, I would laugh. They've already used force. When I don't stop, an additional stunner is sent my way, along with a Full-Body-Bind Curse. Again, I deflect them and send a few Stunning Spells of my own. Even though I'm running, I don't miss."_ Stupefy!"_ Shacklebolt plummets down. Then the Weasley falls.

Draco picks up speed now. He is nearly neck-and-neck with Potter.

I hit the gate. Looking back at the two boys, I concentrate on Riddle House. I close my eyes. The adrenaline is about to drain out. With tremendous effort, I focus and—

Potter slams into me. Draco's arm slips around my waist at the same moment. And we're all pulled together, disappearing from Malfoy Manor with a sharp crack.

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	4. And Landing Hurts

**Dawns of Another Day**

**And The Landing Hurts**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

I fall onto the dusty floor. My cry is loud and shrill. Gods, I hurt. Draco is the one that scoops me up to lay me on the musty velvet fainting chair. We've landed in the parlor. Stark blue-gray walls are lined with built-in shelves filled with old books, a combination of Muggle literature and Magical manuals. Potter keeps his wand trained on me. His expression is serious, filled with a mix of concern and abhor.

"Oh please, Potty, she only stunned them. We both know that was more than merciful." Draco snaps, rounding on the other young man. "She's not the one who attacked first."

Potter considers this and lowers his wand. He evaluated me slowly, coming to the conclusion that I am in no state to maul anyone. How could I be? I can barely move, at this point.

Draco strokes my hair. "I'm going to have to examine your chest." He says softly.

I let out a stale laugh, which turns into a cough. "That's what you said last time."

The-Boy-Who-Lived's lips twitch.

Draco smiles. "This time it's not for anyone's pleasure. Potter," He says suddenly. "Would you…?"

"Oh, er…I…"

Tiredly, Draco rolls his eyes. "You have a tracker one me. My wand is restricted. Is it so hard to be useful?"

Harry nods. "Why don't I get Hermione?"

He mulls it over. "Yes."

Potter looks at me. "Where are we?"

My breaths are shallow, rough. My voice is slowed. "Riddle House," I say. "Little Hangleton."

His expression changes to something of surprise and he apparates away.

"I thought you hated her."

"What?"

"You hate Granger."

"Well, that may be true." He admits. "But the mud…she can heal you better than I can. "

"Thank you for acknowledging that." I breathe. His hand is under my shirt, feeling my ribs. I grimace when his hand prods one particularly tender spot. He unbuttons my blouse slowly, trying not to touch me. When my flesh is exposed, I can see bright blossoms of purple.

"Does anything else hurt?" He demands.

"No…yes, my foot."

Draco rolls his eyes, as if to say _"Of-course-you wouldn't-realize-it-until-now-you-idiot". _I just shrug (which makes me moan, because my ribs are apparently affected by the simple motion of shrugging). He takes off my shoe, feeling my foot carefully. When he touches my ankle, I cringe.

"That's not your foot."

"So I've noticed."

"Intelligent, darling."

"Shut up, Draco." I say sweetly.

A crack sounds from the next room. Potter and the bushy-haired witch enter. The witch instantly focuses on me. "Move, Malfoy."

He glares, but complies. As best he can, since I'm caught his arm and refuse to let go. Harry smirks.

The witch looks over my fresh bruises, tracing them with the tip of her wand. She bites her lower lip and looks up at me. "Can we get any better lighting?"

"Yes." I pull out my wand. Everyone flinches, even Draco. I point it casually at the candle holders on the walls, and at the overhead light, which flickers to life. I choose to ignore the fear. They're just paranoid, it's nothing personal.

"Thank you." She squints at my bruises.

"Busted ribs, I believe," I say breezily. "Episkey didn't work."

"Hmmm."

"And your ankle?" Draco adds. He's acting like a mother goose. I shoot him a very clear message of _"Shut-it-you-git-I'm-not-a-child", _which he ignores. "Her ankle is swollen."

Granger glances at my ankle. _"Sanarus." _

The ache drains away, leaving only a slight feeling of tightness. I sigh. Granger stares at my bruises again, tapping the tip on her wand on the knee. She sits beside me on the couch. Draco watches her like a hawk, unwilling to trust a muggleborn with his favourite houseguest. Potter, in turn, minds Draco.

"Can you heal it?"

"Probably. I might need a bottle of Skele-Grow. Harry?"

Harry smiles half-heartedly. "Shall I apparate to Diagon Ally or Hogwarts?"

"Neither," I say. "There's some here. You can just summon it. Or I can. _Accio Skele-Grow!" _

I hear the distinct sound of our potions cupboard opening. The purple bottle zooms into the room, landing smoothly beside me on the worn velvet. Granger open it, pulling the dropper out. "Since we don't need to regrow bones, just mend them, we should only need one-fourth of the drops."

"Can we mix it with some pumpkin juice?" I ask softly. Everyone stares.

"Well," I murmur. "It's easier to down."

Potter shrugs. "Do you have that here as well?"

"No. But we have Firewhisky. _Accio Firewhisky."_

Draco grins. "Really, you think drinking in this state is going to help you're healing process?"

"Probably not."

Granger prepares the burning brew. I down it quickly, shuddering as it scorches my mouth. But whether it's the whisky or the Skele-Grow, I don't know. Once it's completely consumed, I settle back into the couch.

"Who are you?" Potter asks, sitting into the armchair across from me. I remember that chair. It had been my favourite. Over-stuffed, comfortable, in a faded red. Father had not been very fond of it, but he allowed me to keep it. His favorite had been the black leather thing he transfigured from this chair's twin. _"Much more my style." _He explained, crossing his long legs as he sat in it for the first time.

"She's a little too tired for a Question-and-Answer session right now, Potty." Draco growls.

"I just need a name, Malfoy. Surely that won't be too draining?"

Draco moves closer to me, shielding me from Potter. "You don't have to say anything. " He murmurs into my hair. "Not yet. You should sleep."

"She should answer." Potter insists.

"But I don't want to, Draco." I say sleepily. My eyelids are falling. I feel warm all over. Maybe it's the Firewhisky.

"You don't have to yet." He shoots a glare at Potter.

"Who are you?"

I slip into darkness, the words reverberating around my mind until I can't bear to think anymore.

Good question.

**XXXXXXXXX**

When I wake, I am still in Riddle House, though I have been moved to one of the many bedrooms. Whoever place me here was kind enough to "_Scourgify!" _the room. No cobwebs, dust, dead beetles, or dead mice. The windows were still grimy and the drapes have seen better days, but, in general, it was livable.

"What do you mean, you don't know who she is?"

"It is not a matter of knowledge, its ability. I cannot, Potter, inform you of her identity." Draco replies in a snide voice. "It is a question for her to answer, if she will."

"But you make it sound like there is no possible way for you to answer the question, Malfoy." Granger's voice is patient. "Like, I don't know, as if it's life or death."

I can almost hear him smirk. It's a dark, bitter grin. "It could become a life or death situation, Granger." He says.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Potter, I do not have time for this session of twenty questions. I'm going to see her again."

"No, you're going to answer our questions! We have your family, Malfoy."

Draco hesitates. "Please, Potty. You're not the Dark Lord, so don't pretend you'd ever imitate his work."

The voices in the room across the hall are irate. I know I ought not be listening to this conversation. Yet, when has that ever stopped me?

"There is nothing I can tell you. You'll have to ask her." I hear him walk out of the room, slamming the door in anger. However, he opens the door to my room quietly. Without facing me, he casts a sound-deadening spell upon the room. I struggle to sit up, pushing back the duvet. Draco ignores me, crossing to stand at the high rectangular window. He props himself up on the sill, looking into the over-grown garden.

"You have to tell them something." He says. "I cannot just refuse for much longer."

"I wish you could."

"You know why I cannot."

I nod, shifting to the edge of the bed. "He should not have done that. Why endanger your lives anymore than necessary?"

"I cannot refute his logic. It was for your protection."

"More like his." I say sullenly. "Though, it was not necessary."

"I would have done the same. For different reasons, of course."

I smile. "I know you would." I stand, deliberately walking toward him until I'm beside him. He revolves to face me, biting back the clear urge to tell me to lie back down.

"I know." I whisper.

Equally quiet, he asks: "Will you stay, now?"

"If I can convince them that I'm not a threat."

Draco beings circling me, something he does when he's agitated. It makes him feel in control to have someone "trapped" by him. The first time he did it we were having a fight, one of the worst….

**XXXXXXX**

_He is running his finger through his already-messy hair. I watch him, 180 degrees at a time. The constant circling is frustrating for both of us—me because it is terribly distracting, and obviously a macho-manly subconscious reaction to whatever was threatening him. It bothered him because didn't the stare that came with the motion—for me, actually. _

"_Draco, we can figure this out." My voice is quiet. If I was any louder, he could hear the clear quivering in the vowels. "He can't—"_

"_Oh, but he can." I feel him behind me, his hands on the back of the chair. "And he would."_

"_No, he…"_

"_Keturah!" He spins the chair to face him."You don't seem to understand what your father is capable of doing. He will make us regret this…game we're playing. He will. I've seen him do unthinkable things, my parents have seen him kill."_

_Quietly I ask, "You think this is a game?" _

_Draco freezes, his eyes never breaking contact from mine. Those gray eyes were icicles, perfectly symmetrical to each other. He has his flaws, but I find him breathtaking anyways. Suddenly, he smiles. _

"_You're more like him than originally discernable. His voices takes that same tone when he is…disappointed. No, Keturah, I do not think this is a game. But he will, I know he will."_

"_He won't." I promise. "Because he won't find out." _

_I pull myself to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, burying my head in the spot between his shoulders and neck. He places his hands on my hips. I inhale his scent—cool, deep, pine with a blend of sage and mint. _

"_We have to do something." _

"_He can't hurt us. Draco, don't you think he has some bigger things on his mind than two teenagers screwing around in the library?" _

"_I wouldn't be shocked, darling." His voice is muffled by my hair. "He would think of it as after-dinner entertainment."_

"_What, no fire-eaters?"_

"_Oh, there'll be fire." He says darkly, drawing back to look at me seriously. "But we will be the ones eating it."_

"_Draco…." I never like lying to him. _

"_You shouldn't worry."_

"_Why?" I snap. "Because I'm his daughter?" _

_Draco throws back his head and laughs. He sounds slightly mad. "No, my dear. Because you already have a fiery mouth."_

**XXXXXXX**

"Keturah, you have to convince them. But…lie. Let them think what they want. Tell them anything but the truth."

"I thought you wanted me to tell the truth?"

Draco sighs. "Yes, I would rather you give them the real story, but if lying is the only way to make you stay then I'll deal with it. So lie."

"But…that would put you at risk. "

"I'm willing to gamble."

"The Malfoys are not known for being good gamblers." I point out. His great-grandfather was famed for his skills at the tables, or lack thereof. If it weren't for his wife, the Malfoy fortunes would be all but gone by now.

Draco chuckles. "I may not be. But you can be my lucky charm."

"Always."

There is a knock on the door. He looks at me, eyes trailing toward the bed. _Go there._

I've settle in just as he calls, "Come in."

Potter and Granger walk in, cautious. Their gazes automatically move to me. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Honestly, it is not as though I am rabid dog. I have shown no signs of aggression. Technically, I did once, but only after they attack me first. They are a tad paranoid. Though, knowing my father, I can barely blame them.

"How are you feeling?" the younger girl asks. She has genuine concern in her voice. I feel a pang of guilt. She's a nice girl, really. Draco hasn't been very fair to her.

"I am better. Much less pain. I have you to thank for that."

Draco snorts. I direct a glare in his direction. "What, Draco? You weren't exactly giving me the breath of life."

Both Potter and Granger laugh. Master Malfoy scowls; however, I can tell that it is unenthusiastic.

"Now that you are feeling better, I wonder, would you be able to answer our original question?"

I exchange glances with Draco. Harry shuffles his feet. "Malfoy claims he cannot possibly explain to us. Perhaps you could start with that…?"

I straight myself, arrange the duvet before I will meet their eyes. A stray thread occupies me for several moments. They wait. Draco is pale, peckish, and sits with his hands clasped in his lap.

There is one thing I am ashamed of. To be completely honest, it is not my fault. Father insisted that all of his closes followers make an Unbreakable Vow, with me, that they would never reveal my identity without my permission or my father's. To date, not one has betray our trust. Watching Draco, holding his hand up to mine as the fire engulfed our palms, and he said the words that could potentially kill him, tore me apart.

**Four chapters in one day, woooo! Maybe we'll get 5, but right now I think I'll try to finish 11.**

**Please, keep up the reviews.**


	5. Safety to Seek, Times to Speak

**Dawns of Another Day**

**Safety to Seek**

**XXXXXXX**

"_This is for your safety, Keturah." He hissed, bloody eyes never looking away, though I stared straight ahead into the circle of cloaked figure. Several have masks, other bare faces deeply hidden within the shadows the dark fabric created. Twelve people. Avery, Nott, Macnair, the Lestranges, Pettigrew, Crabbe, Goyle, and the Malfoys. _

"_You shall repeat these words: 'I swear with my life that I will not reveal the identity of Keturah Iliana Riddle without the given permission of Keturah Iliana Riddle or my Lord Voldemort.' Is that sufficiently clear? " _

_The collective group says, "Yes, my lord." _

_Father looks at me. He inclines his head once, gesturing to the circle. I nod and the process begins. Each person shuffled forward to receive their Vow. My father acts as the Bonder. I perform each Vow with relative indifference until I reach the second-to-last person. _

_A pale hand touches mine. Palm-to-palm. I close my eyes. The passage from _Romeo & Juliet _comes to mind. Draco's fingers lock with mine. At this point it is hard to keep my breath regular and my feelings in check. _

_I look to Father, whose eyes glimmer. He starts the Vow. Draco recited the already well-worn words like they are air to a drowning man. "I, Draco Hades Malfoy, swear upon my life that I will not reveal the identity of Keturah Iliana Riddle without the given permission of Keturah Iliana Riddle or my Lord Voldemort." _

_The breath leaves me as he steps away. Father's eyes meet mine. Narcissa Malfoy moves forward to take my hand._

_Once we are done, Father and I leave the room in a regal glide, with the Death Eater exiting through the door on the opposite end of the room. The double oak doors close behind us automatically. Once they are entirely shut I turn on him. I am burning inside, my fear and dislike fueling me. _

"_You did not have to do this, Father." I seethe. "It was entirely unnecessary."_

"_Of course it was." He sat in his favourite black leather armchair, nonverbally summoning a decanter of cognac from the liquor cabinet that resides in the furthest left corner. "My dear, your safety is one of my priorities." _

"'_My safety?' Please, Father, spare me the lies. My welfare was not the reason for this circus act."_

_Father smiles. "Your __Legilimens__ is improving greatly, my dear." _

"_Father." _

"_Are you suggesting that I have an ulterior motive to my Unbreakable Vow requirement? I am hurt that you would assume I would not put your well-being first."_

"_So, you do have another motive. Do you not realize what a risk you've put on these people? Your greatest followers don't need another string attached to their lives!" _

_Father transfigures me a chair. Rather rudely, the thing butts me in the back of my knees forcing me to fall into the damn thing. _

"_Keturah, I do this for your safety. In a…roundabout way. My security is keeping your safe." _

_I feel my magic surging through me, being fed by my irritation. Looking for a release, a nearby china vase bursts. Books fly off shelves. The windows fly open. Wind blows throughout the room, pushing my hair back from my face. Father just observes, sipping his glass of cognac. _

_When I finish my fit, he stands. "Temper tantrums are unbecoming for someone of your age, my dear. Though, your nonverbal casting is impressive. It would be more so if you had some sort of actual incantation in mind." _

"_You know I can't when I am upset." I murmur. _

_His expression darkens. "'Can't?' You are my daughter, there is nothing you cannot do. No one of my blood is so inept!" _

_I flinch as his words hit me like whips. _

"_With your amount of ability, there is nothing you 'cannot' do. The only reason the magic is so out of control is because you are out of control. You have no discipline." He voice is a soft hiss "When your become so distressed, you need to focus your magic, not let it use you."_

_I scowl, crossing my arms. "Nothing uses me, I'm entirely in control of my power." _

_He glances about the room. "Of course you are." He smirks. ''You need discipline. And you can start gaining it by cleaning this room. Without magic."_

_Groaning, I throw up my hands. _

"_My dear, you can complain all you wish. But unless you want me to give you something to actually complain about," He twirls his yew wand, catlike eyes on me. "I would suggest you keep them to yourself. Your whines my accidently have some painful emotional repercussions. " _

"_What?"_

"_Losing young Master Malfoy would be a pity." He says delicately. "Seeing as he is the only Malfoy heir, and has so many close friends."_

_I freeze. "Are you…threatening him?"_

"_Oh no, my sweet. I'm not threatening him at all. I hold no ill will toward Draco. I am merely informing you of the knowledge I possess of you recent increased relations with him."_

"_He has done nothing!"_

"_Ah, correction: he has interests in you. That paired with the genetic Malfoy social-climbing trait can only lead to inevitable destruction on his part. I would prefer that you are out of the way when the tower falls. Any damage to you leads to damage to me, which will then be reflected on to him and his family. Corrupt cycle, but that is how it survives."_

" _We're not doing anything, just—"_

"_I care not what you do." Father says, affronted by my assumption. "I am not telling you to end things between you. By all means, continue sneaking 'round the library. All I am saying is remember what I know."_

"_I am not your pawn. He's not either, and I won't let you use him."_

"_And I shan't. Providing, you don't give me reason to." Father's voice turns silky as he paints me lies. "My darling, Draco is a brilliant lad. Talented, though, nowhere near your level. Beneath you, to be completely honest. There are worse lads out there. But at the very least, this one is connected, loyal to our cause, and conveniently in the same household. Remember, my dear, that his life is entirely in your hands. You can either feel guilty for his death for the remainder of your natural life, or live with him in peace for eternity."_

"_What do you want? What could you possibly want, Father?"_

_It's then that I realize Draco is right. He is mad. Completely mad. _

"_Your unwavering loyalty."_

_Didn't he already have it? _

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

"The Dark Lord required his entire inner circle to take an Unbreakable Vow under the stipulation that under no circumstance is my identity revealed with permission."

"From whom?"

"The Dark Lord." My words come out swiftly, clipped and businesslike. "Or myself."

Granger's eyes go wide. "But why would he give you the authority as well?"

"It_ is_ my name."

"What is it? Your name, I mean."

"Keturah." I say. I can feel Draco holding his breath.

"No last name?"

"None that I can recall."

Potter sets his jaw as Hermione bites her lip. "Maybe she's been confounded. Or had a memory wipe? She's obviously important, else they wouldn't have kept her from the battle. Harry, her stunning spells were magnificent. Perfectly aimed, extremely strong. Charlie and Kinsley didn't wake up for hours, even you can only keep a person out for maybe thirty minutes!"

I am faintly offended by her referring to me as though I was not there. Draco catches my eye, rolling his own in annoyance. I hide a smile. Granger has finally acknowledged me.

"What can you remember?"

"Not much. Malfoy Manor, this house." This wasn't a lie. I haven't visited very many other places.

"How do you know this house?" Potter is curious. He straightens his askew glasses, interest lighting his forest green eyes.

"I was raised here, for a while. Four years? With my nanny." There is more I could say, but I think I will let them work for every bit of information.

"What about the previous…" Potter attempts to guess my age. "Fourteen years?"

I shrug. "I cannot recall, honestly."

"Your nanny, was she a witch?"

"Yes."

"What was her name?"

I frown, as if drawing on the very weakest scraps of memory. "I don't know. I always called her 'Nanny.'"

"Are you a Death Eater?"

Sneering, I toss my hair. "I have more self-respect than to enslave myself in that manner." I toss a glance toward Draco. "No offense."

"Oh, none taken."

Harry shot him a look of his own. Draco was not apparently invited to make comments in this session of interrogation.

"What were you to Lord Voldemort?"

_A daughter. _I want to say. I want to see the shock in their expressions, the fear in their eyes. Instead, I told them something closer to the truth. "I don't know. He treated me with respect. "

"Did he ever ask you to do anything?"

"'Pass the salt?'" I quip. "Honestly, he never required anything of me."

Potter shifts to look at Granger. She is focused on me. I feel like a scientific experiment, being prodded and observed for unusual reactions. But I am more than a little use to this. My father's followers often stared and whispered, when I first arrived.

Harry opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens again. "Did he ever hint at knowing who you are?"

I tilt my head. "I know who I am, Potter. I know very well."

"Then who are you?"

"Someone with a keen knowledge of You-Know-Who. But that doesn't matter anymore, I suppose. He's dead." There is no bitterness in my tone.

"And how did you come to Malfoy Manor?"

I tug a stray thread on the duvet. "I'm…not entirely sure. My nanny was released from duty and he came for me."

"Who?"

"Voldemort." The word is an unfamiliar. As his daughter I called him "Father". Everyone around me referred to him as "My lord" when in his presence, and "the Dark Lord" when out. The name nobody is allowed to say…

The three other occupants look horrified. Hermione looks to Potter. His grim expression doesn't change as he sweeps from the room. She follows, leaving us one last unsure look.

"That went well." I tell Draco. I wipe my forehead, frowning at the wetness that comes away with my hand. Sweat? Odd, I feel so cold.

He still appears a little shocked. I hit him lightly on the arm. "Come now, Draco, you knew all of this before."

"It is still difficult to hear, all the same. You didn't have to say the name."

"I disagree. Only Order members say his name. If I do as well, what does that make me?"

"A fool." He rubs his temple. He was weary when he first arrived at the Manor, I do not doubt he's five times worse. No matter how long I was asleep he wouldn't have rested until he felt he absolutely had to. Obviously, he's still got some juice in his battery.

"No, it makes me a friend."

"You should tell them."

"I thought you just convinced me to lie. Right after you begged me to tell the truth. You're not very good at making up your mind, my dear."

"I can't just sit here while you endanger yourself."

"They believe me."

"Of course they do! It's Golden Boy Potter! He believes everyone has a smear of good in them."

"Don't I?"

He pauses, taking the time to think it over. Mock-offended, I throw the nearest pillow at him. He catches my wrist, making me protest. Draco then covers my mouth with his other hand. "Shhhhh, listen."

I shut up and listen.

**Chapter 5! Draco's middle name is my nod at my "Red Sky". **

**So, tell me, how do you feel about Tim Burton's films?**


	6. Peak of Shock, Crux of Pain

**Dawns of Another Day**

**Chapter 6**

**Peak of Shock, Crux of Pain**

"She could be anybody, Harry!"

"Why would they go to all the trouble of protecting her if she wasn't vitally important?" His voice is urgent. "They had to take an Unbreakable Vow swearing to never speak of her to outsiders. She grew up in Riddle House!"

"Harry, Malfoy could be lying. You know him, he would—"

"No, I don't think he would. At this point he has no reason to lie. You saw how easily they let us into their house, how quickly they gave up their Dark Arts items."

"Who do you think she is, Harry?"

"I…" Potter was at a loss for words. "I think she's somebody important. Very important."

"Why?" Hermione's voice is frustrated. "She could just be a victim. Locked in the cellars like us."

"No, she was taken care of, given a room, clean clothes; she's not starving or anything. She was valuable to him somehow."

"Voldemort didn't value anyone."

"Maybe not any person for themselves, but he appreciated their blood status, or their wealth or power…" He drifts off. I can almost feel the temperature change. "You yourself mentioned her amount of power. Those stunners were _excellent_. She's obviously been trained, I mean, her aim was perfect. And her apparition—Hermione, she side-apparated us herself, _two people_, with nobody getting splinched. She did it in a split second, she had no idea we were going to tag along."

"Side-along apparation? By herself? With two people? Harry, she can't be older than 18. Ooooh, that's advanced magic! You and Ron can barely apparate yourselves, let alone other people. She's got a great deal of magic if she can accomplish something like that."

"But we've never seen her, if he kept her for power, why not use her?"

"Harry, she didn't need to be on the battlefield to fight." Granger scolded.

"I don't think he ever used her. She says she doesn't remember. Hermione, I think she was…I don't know."

"What?"

Potter was quiet for some time. "Nothing."

I look to Draco. "Do you think-"

"No." He says quickly. "I mean, it's insane. Completely insane." His expression is urgent, nearly pleading.

"Yes, it is mad." I agree. My voice quivers now. I'm still cold, but that is not what affects my speech. "I mean, he wasn't even a man. He wasn't human."

Draco strokes my hair. "He was, at one point. But you're too good, too kind…Keturah, I—"

Harry has reentered. Draco pulls himself away.

"If you're not a Death Eater, do you support him?" He demands. "His cause?"

"No, I didn't. I don't. Persecution against Muggles is something I would never support. It's a low, illogical hate."

My speech is well received. Harry appears surprised, and he almost smiles. Hermione looks triumphant. She is, I believe, one of those people who think no matter what your past or parentage, you can change. A noble theory, rather basic.

Hermione asks the question this time. "Are you related to any Death Eaters?"

"No. I don't know anything about my family. Is there anything else you want to know? I'm sorry, but… I know what you're fishing for, but I don't have the answers."

"Okay," Potter says. "What is it you think we're looking for?"

"I was found at a Death Eater's house. Voldemort's headquarters. I hide myself, then flee. I have no identity, and I can't even remember my past." My voice is clear and musical, contrasting from my physical state of being. I'm not feeling so hot. In fact, I'm still quite chilled. "You think I'm somebody important. But I can assure you I am not. I'm just some orphan the Dark Lord saw potential in, and decided to…collect."

"What, were you like his protégé, or something?"

"Ah, no," I snort. "I was not. I was just kept around for…appearances, I suppose. There is nothing else I can give you, Potter. I'm sorry."

It is true. I was kept around for appearances, but not the kind he would believe I meant. It was a power show, used to illustrate he had a closer follower, the most loyal of sheep, that was as close as blood. I suppose he made a mental pro and con list of keeping me around. On the one hand I made him seem all the more human

He stares at me. for a moment, trying to discern if I could be of any more use. Deciding that I am no longer helpful, his gaze swings to the blond gentleman beside me.

"How long has she been at Malfoy Manor?"

"Since last March. Over a year. She was there whenI returned home after term ended. She arrived with the Dark Lord, when he took up residence at the Manor."

"He can tell you nothing else." I warn quietly. I would be louder if I could, however my head is pounding. "Please, I'm of no importance. And Draco…" I look at him. "The Malfoys were unwilling hosts. They did not voluntarily house Lord Voldemort. Their loyalty to him ended after the Department of Mysteries battle. Please, they were only willing participants for a year. I know you may not see me as credible but…"

My words trail off as I feel a sudden gut-wrenching pain that can only be associated with fire. I'm being pricked, jabbed, stabbed, prodded, poked and all-over hurt in my abdomen. My gasps come out like pathetic pants of throbbing. I'm light-headed and nauseous. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. Did they poison me? Sent a curse flying my way?

"D-d-Draco," I stutter. His hands are on mine. They are almost ripped away from me, from shock. My skin is slick with sweat, cold as marble. Shaking, my eyes roll up to meet his gray ones and then stopped, though not of their own accord.

"I think she's going into shock!" Hermione's voice is shrill, scared. "_Help me, you ninny!" _I want to cry, but my body is no longer my own. It shakes and trembles. I try to open my mouth, I want to scream, but my vocal chords refuse to move.

"Hermione what-?"

"She needs to go to St. Mungos!" Hermione yells. "I can't—"

Draco roars, "Then bloody hell, get her there!"

"D-d-d-" Is all I can say. His eyes meet mine briefly, then next thing I know he's picked me up once more (surprisingly strong for a spoiled rich boy, right?) and we apparate to Mt. Mungos. Potter and Granger follow suit, appearing with a faint _"pop" _alongside us. At that point, I black out.

From what I'm told, Draco stormed toward the Welcome Witch (who was, that evening, not giving any one much of a welcome), demanding immediate attention. According to Potter, my present state was enough to spur her into action. Wizards do not experience shock very often. Potter compared my performance to the mental state of a zombie. Hermione was the only other person to comprehend the reference.

After being lead to an ICU room, Draco laid me upon the table and promptly refused to leave. The mediwarlocks didn't argue. They apparently did not notice the restraint on his wand. It was found through a new experimental medical machine that reveals insides that I had abdominal internal bleeding. Granger said that if Draco hadn't taken charge to get me to St. Mugos that I would, quite probably, be dead. I was quickly taken into surgery, which Draco was not allowed to be present for. And for the second time that week a Riddle died.

****

**Just to clear a few things up, Keturah is 19. She lived in Riddle House from when she was about 1-2, leaving shortly after Voldy's first vanquishing. Harry doesn't quite suspect that she's that closely related. He's thinking she might be Morfin's granddaughter, Tom's 2****nd**** cousin.**

**The symptoms of shock I had to research a bit. The shock was a result of the internal bleeding. Wizards tend not to think of things like this (but then again, neither do muggles). All info came from Mayo online. **


	7. Barmy on Tuesdays

**Dawns of Another Day**

**Barmy on Tuesdays**

Luckily for me, I was brought back rather quickly. Too quickly to have had one of those near-death experiences muggles talk about occasionally on their medical T.V. shows. The mediwitch responsible for my surgery did not inform Draco of this, opting (wisely) to tell Harry, Hermione, Ron, Charlie, Kingsley, and the rest of the Weasley clan, who were also in St. Mungo's. If the energy had be present in me, I would have been upset knowing that so many strangers knew this personal bit of my life.

I slept for another six hours. Draco never left my side. I was later told that both the elder Malfoys were informed of their son's location, and allowed to visit (with Auror escorts). Both were, according to Harry, "very surprised to see you, to the point of crying (Aunt Cissa, I'm sure) and vomiting (Lucius. He gets ill when stunned.)" They stayed for some time, before being taken back to the retaining center set up earlier in the week for Death Eaters and their families. I was told that they were questioned as to my identity, and could only say something along the lines of "our houseguest—but she's not a Death Eater! Or related to one! Or anything like that!"

Obviously, some idiot asked Lucius for a quote.

Somehow, the Malfoy heir had been excused from the detaining process. Temporarily, at least. Ronald told me he feared that Draco never excused himself to use to restroom. I didn't believe him, for while Draco was unreasonably stubborn, he was also spoiled and would, as is the Slytherin way, put himself first. Or, after me, in this case.

I'm awake, but they don't know that. Pretending is much more convenient when trying to figure out what, exactly, the enemy wants. Though whether or not they were my enemies were, I have yet to find out .

"I dunno, mate. You sure she's trustworthy?"

Ah, Ronald. His simple way of thinking paired with his grammar made him a rather odd companion to Hermione and Harry. The third wheel to an otherwise brilliant pair. I did not necessarily dislike him, but the fellow never struck me as the kind I would ever willing spend much time with. Not unless I could buy those minutes of my life back.

"We have nothing that indicates she isn't." Kingsley's deep voice is soothing.

"She stunned you and Charlie!"

"Stunned, Ron." Hermione reminds him. "Stunned. She didn't hurt anyone, she was just scared."

"Hermione, she's barmy. She lived with Death Eaters for more than a year. Surely some of their ideal-thingies rubbed off on her. Lie with dogs, stand with fleas, what Mum says."

"That's not always true, Ron. If we're prejudice against her we're just as bad as them."

"It's not prejudice if it's for our own safety. She could be mad. I would be, if I lived with that lot."

Hermione won't back down. "We can't make any judgments until we talk to her more."

"You and Harry already tried!" He insists. "She wouldn't tell you anything."

"Can the two of you be quiet?" Harry finally breaks in quietly. "The doctors want her to sleep as much as possible."

They stopped arguing. At least, Hermione did, leaving Ron muttering under his breath. Kingsley murmurs a goodbye. Hermione follows him, saying she was going to check on one of their classmates.

"You know what I think?"

Potter's voice is dry. "I don't know Ron, there is no telling."

"Look at the evidence, Harry. No memory of her past or who she is. No last name. Powerful witch. Harry, I think she's…." He lowers his voice to add suspense. " A time traveler."

"You're barmy."

"No, really." Ron insists. "She's kept secret, special to You-Know-Who—"

"Voldemort."

"Eh. But think about it. There's no record of her…"

Harry lets out a weary sigh. "Ron, she could just as easily be on the records. She might've had a memory charm placed on her. There's no evidence that she's a time traveler."

"Harry, what if she's Ariana Dumbledore?"

"What?" Potter's voice is sharp. "She died Ron. Over a hundred years ago."

"What if she didn't, what if You-Know-Who brought her back for…something. Suppose he taught her to control her magic. And you even said she had eyes like Dumbledore. He must've—"

"Why would he do that? Ariana wasn't- She wasn't right in the head. She wasn't like Keturah. You're just throwing out crazing theories. What would Voldemort want with her, anyways?"

"I dunno. She was a Dumbledore."

Harry is quiet. The conversation is assumedly over. Until:

"Well, who do you think she is?"

Potter is silent for so long I thought maybe he was refusing to answer. "I…" he starts. "It's right mad, it is, but I almost though…she was, like, I dunno."

"C'mon mate."

"I dunno. Family, I guess. Maybe a cousin. Or…daughter?"

It's Ron's turn to be quiet. Then he breaks out in loud guffaws. "Ahahaha, mate that's-"

"Completely barmy. But the way everyone acted about her…it was like she was important in a different way. Something about her, her style of magic. She even looks like him a bit."

"What, skinny, pale and bald?"

"I meant like Riddle, before he changed. Don't you think?"

I hear Ron's laughter pause as he looks me over. "Yeah, I guess. Dark hair, and all that. But a lot of people look like that. You could be right. But Harry, that's almost as barmy as her being a Dumbledore. I mean, who would have a kid with _him?"_

Who, indeed?

**XXXXXXX**

When I officially woke, Draco was beside me. He was slumped in the god-awful vinyl hospital chair. The fluorescent lighting did nothing good to his complexion. The bags under his eyes were simply dreadful. His bruises were yellowing sickly, his cuts crusted. Some were a little infected.

I adore him for doing this. I admire him for standing this horrid place, rather than a comfortable retaining center. I respect him for his bravery, defying the Aurors even after his name has already been dragged through the mud. I love him for everything else.

"Malfoy," I call softly. Hearing my own voice, I cringe. It's gravelly from lack of use. "Malfoy…Draco!"

He starts, lurching forward. When he calms enough to realize that the Axis Powers are not attacking, he sees that I am awake. And then, without delay, he snogs me senseless.

"The mediwitchs tell me not to excite you too much. The strain might hurt you."

"Obviously you didn't listen very well. Or only well enough to quote them." I say wryly.

He grins cheekily. "I didn't care. And I don't think you did."

"No," I admit. "But we both know I'm no china doll."

He sits on my bed. I curl myself around him, sighing contently. There is nothing I could wake to that would make me happier. Except maybe…

"Harry suspects." I murmur against the hollow of this throat.

"Really?" his voice is lower than mine.

"Ron, however, is keener on the idea that I am the long-deceased sister of former Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."

"That one has never been known for his theories." Malfoy says in a matter-of-fact voice. "But I'm surprised Potty got closer to the truth."

"Not just close." I disagree. "He hit the mark, Draco."

Draco pulls back and blinks. "How?"

"I have no clue." I reply, disgruntled that he is no longer beside me.

"They will take you, Keturah."

"They can't. They won't."

"You said the same thing about your father." He huffs. I pull him back to me. "You lied."

I shrug, not particularly caring to delve into the subject at this moment. "I did for your peace of mind."

He frowns. This is truly bothering him. "I've never had peace of mind, Keturah, you know that. There was no point in sparing me."

"You git, I was being charitable."

"Riddle, you have the Potter syndrome: the unwanted hero."

"Not always unwanted." Harry says from the doorway, leaning against the threshold.

"Of course not," I agree. From the corner of my eye I see Draco's hands tighten, feel them squeeze my skin. He's lost the little colour the poor lighting allowed him. "You've been more than just a hero, I've heard, Potter. Savior, they're calling you."

I'm in no way mocking him. My tone is kind, understanding. I decided that the best course was through the smoothest waters. The waters of friendship, alliances.

"I'm nobody's savior." Harry smiles lightly. "I just did what any one of the other blokes would've."

"Not Draco, I'm afraid." I lift his hand up with mine. The picture perfect pair.

Did Potter hear? He doesn't appear to be shocked or disgruntled, or anything of that nature. Perhaps he did not. Still, I do not risk asking, instead I steer the conversation toward something less risky.

"When will I be able to leave?"

He shrugs. "In maybe two days. They're not entirely sure they stopped the bleeding, so you need to stay under observation."

"She wouldn't bloody be here in the first place if Granger had healed her right the first time." Draco ground out, speaking for the first time since Harry had made his appearance.

"Don't you—"

"Hermione did what she could." I cut Potter off. "She did her best, which is fine enough for me. Nobody could've stopped it, Draco."

Both men are silent, brooding from their separate sides of the room. Finally, Harry speaks up.

"Once you are released, where will you go?"

"I thought there were plans being made already. Retaining center, right?" I ask, eyebrows raised. "I stunned an Auror and fled a crime scene."

Harry shrugs again. "Nobody's too upset. But do you have any where to go?"

"I was hoping I could stay in the Riddle House." I say softly. "But, I suppose it's now Ministry property seeing as he's dead."

I don't say his name. I don't even say "The Dark Lord."

"Yes," Harry says. "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do. As his former place of residence, they're going to search and possibly destroy it, if nobody buys it."

"You mean they're going to sell it?"

"Yeah, but nobody will buy it, I guarantee you."

I struggle to push myself up on the pillows. Then I'm left panting, but I look Potter straight in the eye. "I would. How long until they end the search?"

Potter is slightly taken aback by my declaration. He runs a hand through his already-messy jet locks. "I dunno. A week, maybe. If they don't find anything-"

"_Which they won't." _Father's voice is back in my head. _"I left you that much, Keturah."_

"—then they might put it on the market. But I really don't know about selling houses, and things."

"Oh, then," I say. "I might…I mean, if the price is reasonable…Draco?"

I look at the fair man lying beside me. He rolls his eyes. "If you need me to spot you the money, Keturah, you know I will."

"Thank you." I tell him and Potter and Father. _"Thank you so much."_

**Halfway done! I'm going to finish chapter 12 tomorrow, and hopefully post it by Friday if I keep going at this rate. **

**Draco becomes the sugar daddy. Really, who didn't see that one coming? **

**I have to explain something about the dynamics of Keturah's relationship with her father. She does, for the most part, dislike him. He's done little to nothing for her, only entered her life when she was about 17 and treated her like a symbol more than a child. But she appreciates the things he did do for her and she understands he was not meant to be a father.**

**Thanks for the reviews, keep 'em coming. So, what country do you live in? **


	8. Hourglasses Dissolves

**Hourglasses Dissolves **

It actually takes two weeks for the house to become available. Two weeks was a long time to go without shelter, so Potter ended up inviting me to live with him in the former Black Manor. It was rather empty, seeing as Weasley couldn't leave his family and Granger had gone to Australia to fetch her poor parents. The only other inhabitance were the much-abused Kreacher and a few, currently homeless, Hogwarts students. For a brief period, Andromeda Tonks dropped by, showing Harry his new godson and introducing herself to me. I was astounded by how much this disinherited Black looked like her elder sister Bellatrix. However, unlike Bella, Dromeda had retained her beauty through the years. Teddy is a doll. He is very well humored.

Potter was surprisingly friendly, giving me time and space, and a room entirely to myself. It was on the fourth floor. Regulus's abandoned bedroom. Silver and green all the way around. Harry helped me remove the newspaper clippings and tidy the place. I kept the clippings in a box, under the bed. Occasionally at night, I would take them out, smoothing the crumple, weathered surfaces of the old newspaper, reading about my father's bloody glory days.

I was allowed to return to Malfoy Manor to retrieve some clothing, but that was all. The Malfoys were detained longer than anyone foresaw-nearly a month after the final battle. However, prior to their release, they granted me access to a large amount of money. I bought Riddle House the moment the Ministry stepped out. It was finally mine.

But of course, it wasn't entirely. While the Malfoys are wealthy, they do not relinquish that amount of gold for nothing. I was required to complete the N.E.W.T.s , first off, then Narcissa asked that I stay at the Manor until the House was entirely renovated. The house was essentially hers until I repaid my debt, so I had no choice but to comply.

"You could just marry me and be done with it." Draco suggests one afternoon, while I am picking out wall colour.

"I am not going to marry you." I sigh, laying down the two chips I had been holding up to the wall. Sage or Apple? Why were all these colours food-related?

"Why ever not?" He asks, indignant.

"Because I'm 19."

"It's only a year's difference, Keturah."

"It's not the age difference. It's the being 19 part."

"So? May pureblood girls marry younger than 19."

I smile. He's the traditional sort, but that doesn't bother me. Much. "I have a life to live first." I explain gently. "So many years of being under control, I deserve some time to figure myself out."

Draco squeezes me. "I know who you are." He whispers in my ear, nuzzling my neck.

The new arrangement was that I, Keturah With-No-Last-Name, was under Ministry watch for my first three years in society. This made finding a job a right joy. Nobody wanted a nameless witch with a Watch on her working in their shop. The only job I could find was to the Malfoys as Narcissa's assistant (though for what, I still have no clue). More than half my pay check went toward the house. As her assistant, a great deal of my time was spent either working on the details of the house, or occupying Draco. I somehow felt like this was eons of unfair.

"Could be worse." He reasons. "You love me, after all. What better way to earn money?"

"I feel like a whore." I grumble, shoving the picnic basket aside. _"'Why don't you take Draco out for a picnic, Keturah? He's been cooped up all day indoors.'_ I can't decide if I'm a babysitter or dog walker."

"Neither. You're a future Malfoy."

"In your dreams," I retort. "I have years of maidhood left before me."

He shrugs. "I didn't say it would be soon. Just…eventually."

I pass my N.E.W.T.s with flying colours, topping Granger, Macmillan, and Draco. In fact, I'm told the only student to ever score higher was Thomas Riddle. My smile freezes on my face as I say, "Oh, really? I've never heard of him."

"Probably never will again," the tiny witch who tested me says. She's got to be nearly eighty, with poofs of dark silver hair and purple spectacles. "Died, shortly after graduating. Or that's what they say. Never seen from after he quit at the shop."

I get the name of the shop from her and start next Thursday. The owner is the nephew of the late Burke, only six years older than me. Four months later, I've earned enough from both my jobs to have paid off my debt. Thank the gods the house was at a completely rock-bottom price.

Draco is more than a little appalled that I took an actual _job_, let alone two. His mother's, I argue, is not a real job, it was a made-up pity job, created with the hope that I might become attracted to their son. Part compassion, part scheming. That is Aunt Cissa for you.

Harry was quite amused to find out the elder Malfoys did not know about us. "Us" being Malfoy and myself. We've managed to keep it to ourselves, even though Aunt Cissa continually pushes us together. She thinks we'll be a good match, the Dark Lord's daughter and her son.

The Malfoys are the only Death Eater-related family that will have anything to do with me. I'm avoided like the dragon pocks by everyone else. The Notts, the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Rosiers, the Selwyns…anyone who wasn't sent to Azkaban.

While I am not friends with Granger or Potter, I do see them occasionally. They're more like patrol officers than friends. Nevertheless, it is a start. I'm making progress, making friends and whatever else normal people do. I've got my own house, a used broomstick, a connection on the Floo network, and my father's library collection. I'm adapting. Things are going fine. Great, actually. I've never been so free.

**XXXXXXXX**

"I've been in here for three hours!" I yell, pounding on the glass. "You only have three more! I suggest you hurry up and question me! Bloody hell, what does it take to get some service around here?"

Being detained for reasons unknown to you isn't fun. It's quite boring, actually.

Two Aurors arrived on the steps of Riddle House sometime around seven that morning, thirty minutes before I had to arrive at work. They wore grey regulation cloaks and had their wands displayed clearly on their persons. I still had wet hair when I opened the door. They looked very surprised. Of the few visitors I've had, I've grown use to it. They expect to see a humble house elf, and instead they get me, the nearly-dressed mistress of the home.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" I ask. I have slippers on, one pearl earring, and my pencil skirt and blouse, but they act as though I'm walking around in the nude.

"Miss-" They exchanged glances, unsure of what to say. They've apparently been told the story. "Er…"

"Astra." I supply. Hermione had spent a few hours helping me pick out a last name that was of my liking. She loaded books upon the hospital table, eagerly flipping through the pages, asking me what sort of words I liked, what culture appealed to me most. Eventually we settled upon Latin as the basis. I was flipping through one particularly interesting muggle text on root words, when five letters jump out at me from the page.

I showed it to Hermione. "Ah, 'star.' It's rather lovely. I don't know anyone with that name, you'll start a whole new family line!" She exclaimed. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's quite wonderful actually. Your family is going to have quite a time looking for your background when they start wondering."

"Astra." I said, trying the word out. "Astra…"

It stuck. I am now "Keturah Desdemona Altheda Galinda Astra." Each name has a significant meaning in behind it, something deep and special. Something that defined me wholly. Draco nearly died from laughing.

"Three middle names?"

"I am making my own choices." I cry defensively. "I think a new name will help me, Draco, so no teasing."

He simply sighed. "A new name does not make you a new person, nor can it change your past."

"Miss Astra," the taller two of the men began. I don't know his name, but I think I recognize the shorter one as Dawlish. "You're being summoned to the Auror Department, regarding an incident two years ago."

I narrow my eyes. It has been nearly two years to the day since the Final Battle. The anniversary of the day I was discovered is only a few days behind it. After two years what questions could they have?

"I am sorry, but I have to work this morning. Mr. Burke is expecting me in thirty minutes."

"We have spoken to Mr. Burke. He says you're getting an early weekend." The short one, Dawlish, says. "If you wouldn't mind coming with us…?"

"May I?" I gesture to my attire, or lack thereof.

"Of course." He says. "Can Williamson come in?"

I restrain myself from rolling my eyes. Did they really think I was about to run? But I agree, trudging upstairs to my bedroom. I finish dressing, apply a few makeup charms in the process. I want to look nice, but not too nice. This is an interrogation, not a date.

Before I leave, I leave a quick note for Draco on the dresser. It is tempting to send him an owl or patronus, but that would be suspicious. While, considering our current state of affairs, he will most likely not be visiting my home, let alone worrying about where I was, I found myself unable to stop. Old habits die hard.

I go with them. We're in a muggle car, to my surprise. Little Hangleton is a great way from London. It's in Derbyshire.

**Desdemona: Ill-fated**

**Galinda: A play on the name Glenda, which means pure, clean, or good.**

**Altheda: **_The second of three witches in the story "The Fountain of Fair Fortune" from ____The Tales of Beedle the Bard__. According to the paraphrase, Altheda was a witch who had lost confidence in herself after being robbed and humiliated, and went to find the fabled fountain for a cure for her feelings of helplessness. On her way she meets two other witches, Asha and Amata, and even though just one may bathe, the three decide to help each other get to the fountain. After passing through three obstacles, Asha collapses and Altheda quickly mixes a potion that not only revives her, but also cures her "incurable" malady. When the fountain is reached, Altheda realizes that knowledge of her healing skills have made her feel powerful and hopeful again and she no longer needs the fountain (TBB/FFF). _From HP Lexicon.


	9. Light From a Different Star

**Chapter 9, **

**Stars of a New Life**

For the last year I've been considering moving the house near Scarborough or in Cheshire. Closer to the sea, farther from my job, and away from the village where the name "Riddle" held some sort of wicked reputation. Draco would much rather I move the house to some county closer to him. Dorset, Devon, maybe Surrey. His ultimate preference would be I just forget it altogether and move in to Malfoy Manor, something he has tried very hard to sway me toward. Even moving the Riddle House to Wiltshire would be an improvement in his mind. I personally would rather not move, but the village is getting wary. Nobody has occupied the house, in their mind, for decades. Not since my grandfather died, just over fifty years ago.

He had never told me how he died, though the villagers at the local bar were more than willing to fill in the gaps they could.

"No idenitifyin' marks. No blood. Nothin'. Just sittin' at the dinner table, dressed all up nice. Dead, all three of them."

Three? He had never mentioned any more family members.

"The two elder Riddles, Richard and Anastasia. Then Tom."

One older woman at the bar cackled. "A real looker, wasn't he? Even till the end."

I wonder if he was a wizard...

The bartender, who poured me one on the house, shakes his head. "Me mum told me all about 'em. Right snobbish prudes, they was. Thought they were the Lord, Lady, and Duke of this valley. Well, We's never set 'em straight, but a great many thought that if they was so high 'en mighty, what was they doin' here, eh? As for the youngest one, well, he proved to be just as common as the rest of us. Ran off, didn't he, with that odd girl 'cross the way. Gaunt's girl."

Odd? How so?

"Those freaks?" he snorts. "Was just different. The two men were just mean, or so me mum says. The girl was quiet as can be, never spoke. Not much to look at, either. But she ran off with Riddle and was never seen again."

But he came back, obviously.

"'Course he did. His kind always do. We wasn't sure how she got 'em in the first place, so we didn't ask questions."

How long ago did this happen? He looks to the old woman sitting at his bar. Brow furrowed, she does the math in her head, adjusting her knit hat as she thinks. I drain my beer, then ask for a spot of sherry and a plate of chips. I might be here for awhile.

"73 years!" She finally announces, nodding in a self-satisfied sort of way.

Almost exactly the same age as Father, or just a year shy. I had figure out, shortly before he died, his age, when he conceived me, and other things like that. He was 53 when I was born. Old to be having children, even by wizarding standards. Or, so I've been told. I'm learning a lot, now that I am out in society.

"So my dear, just why were you interest in the Riddle House? Did the realtor not give you that house's history, hmm?"

They don't believe me when I say "Yes, exactly." even though that's what they want to hear. They're still wary, still untrusting. A single, independent young woman living alone in that huge house (not even renting, mind you, but _owning _the damned thing) is odd enough. But I am also an outsider. If any valley-born girl had been living there, it might still be odd, but slightly more acceptable.

"Are you planning on staying for long?" the bartender asks. A younger fellow, perhaps my age, is eyeing me from a booth in the corner. I'd give him the eye back, but I've already got enough attention tonight. And the only man I can seemingly flirt with is Draco. With everyone else I come off as standoffish , shy, unpracticed.

I tell them yes. I adore the house, regardless of history and it's far enough away from my work to please me.

"And where do you work, missy?" The older woman asks, shaking the ice in her glass. I can tell by the look in her beady eyes she is the type who is horridly traditional, who does not believe women should work, except inside the home.

A shop, I say.

"Which shop?" they ask. This gets their attention. Everyone here has obviously already swapped rumors about me, so they know I do not work in town.

A small shop in London. It's the truth.

"London?" The bartender asks. "Bit of a ways, isn't it?"

Yes, but I work from here. I gather the…materials sold there. I don't have to go to town but twice a month.

This they accept, even as peculiar as the story is. The conversation slowly dies, until I am no longer the center of attention. I came back occasionally, but never stay long enough to have a chat like that again.

**XXXXXXX**

The door swings open with a force that indicates frustration. Harry Potter stands in the threshold, looking horridly peeved. His glasses are slightly askew, his hair messier than usual (And oily. Somebody has not had their morning shower), his shirt is wrinkled. In other words, somebody pulled an all-nighter.

"Keturah." He greets me with the usual handshake. I like Harry's handshakes—they're firm, the type to tell you that you're in good hands (no pun intended), he can (and will) take care of everything.

"Shouldn't it be 'Miss Astra'?" I ask, tapping my nails on the glass-topped table. "This is official business, is it not, Mr. Potter? Were you the one to send two Aurors to my door this morning? If you wanted to see me you could've just owled, Harry. Or dropped by yourself. My wards know to let you by without alarming me."

They'd given me a heart attack, screeching out warnings at six-forty-five, when Williamson and Dawlish first came down the drive. I had to throw on my skirt and blouse in mere seconds to be ready before they reached the door. Needless to say, I was fairly annoyed.

After leading me out to the car, we drove to the nearest portkey, seven miles away on the crest of the valley. We land in the basement of the Ministry; their makeshift garage. From there I was taken to this interrogation room. A witch came in to offer me a Styrofoam cup of tea. It was plain Earl Grey, my least favourite tea. I had the sneaking suspension that the Minster had better quality, and probably a wider array, of tea. I sat here, alone besides one sad little potted ficus and a magazine rack. This room was used for long waits. I rolled my eyes. Brilliant. Not even the well-written works in _Witch Weekly _could keep me occupied.

Harry sits down the in the cold steel chair across from me. "Keturah, I apologize to keep you waiting. And for not personally gathering you myself."

"Accepted. Why am I here, Harry?"

"I just got the okay to bring you in this morning." He leans back. "There are a few things I just like to go over with you."

"Things such as?"

"Events, maybe a few people involved in your sudden arrival two years ago." He scratches his chin. Black stubble is beginning to form all over his face. Oh yes, definitely an all-nighter. Poor fellow. If anyone needs something to drink, it's Harry.

I frown. "Harry, we're friends. If you had anything to ask, why didn't you just come to me about it? Why involve the Ministry?"

He runs his fingers through that messy hair again. I can tell he's not exactly pleased about this situation, either. "I didn't want to, Astra. But with a situation this delicate, I'd rather have you protected by the law."

"Protected?" From what?

"Protected from the prejudice you'd receive."

Prejudice?

"Stop speaking in riddles." I say. "What is it you want?"

"I—"

We're interrupted by a loud bang outside, along with some indiscernible yelling until:

"Bloody hell, let go of me! Do you know who I am? Who are you, who do you work for?" The voice is male, loud and sharp. "I'll be speaking to your superior about you. I said _let go!_"

The door bursts open. A brown-haired man with tan skin and muscles to kill shoves a fair fellow into the room, back-first. The darker one has a very stressed look on his face, similar to the one my nanny would get when I asked her when father was returning.

The pale man swears, straightens up, and tells the Auror just what he thinks of his treatment. Or, he tries. Harry clears his throat. The fair man spins around, a nasty sneer across his features, until he sees just who the occupants of this room are. Then his eyes are alight and a smirk grows on his lips.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Thank you, Proudfoot."

**Three chapters left!**


	10. Kind of a Sort of Cost

**A Kind of a Sort of a Cost**

I have not seen the bloody prat for nearly a month. We had a violent fight. Again.

It start with him starting up a discussion regarding my house. Harry hates my house. My best friend, Crystana Zeller hates my house, as does Ellamina Gamp and Willa Nettles. But Draco, oh Draco, doesn't just hate my house. He _loathes _my house.

This was not the first argument. Or the worst. Or the last.

_He was rubbing my hands that night. Work had been long and on hot days my joints sometimes ached for mysterious reasons. He had visited me after work. We were in the garden. Ever since moving there I had planted roses, lilies, lilac bushes and hydrangeas. Ferns line the walk and an enchanted willow stands in the back. A small section focuses on herbs—lavender, thyme, mint, basil, etc. I can't cook, but they are useful in some light potions. We were actually talking about my garden while we sat in it, about the herb garden. Draco was teasing me. _

"_You can hardly make toast, but your potions are supposedly the best around." _

"_Please," I scoff. "They're not 'supposedly,' they are. You of all people should know that!" I swat him on the shoulder gently. "Besides, I don't need to cook. There is a pub in town and the doors of Malfoy Manor are always open to me." _

"_If you want decent meals all the time, you ought to just move in." _

"_What to the pub?" I raise my brows in a challenge. "I don't think I'd be too welcome to sleep there, Draco." _

_He sticks his tongue out. "The Manor, you imbecile."_

"_Mmm, I would but I have a reputation as a moral, upstanding citizen."_

"_Ha, of course you do." _

_I hit him again. He sobers. "But really, Keturah. Why not?"_

"_Because I like my house." I say. _

"_You are the only one who likes your house."_

"_Essay likes it." I huff, referring to my horridly jumpy Irish Wolfhound. _

"_He does not count."_

"_He does! He lives here."_

"_Which makes him bias." Draco points out. "You can't stay here alone, forever. And don't say you're not alone, the dog and the owl do not count. At some point, you're going to have to venture out into society fully. What better way to do so? Move in with me, Keturah."_

_As logical as his impromptu speech is, I am not swayed. "I'll leave. Eventually. But I like it here, Draco. It's home. It's been home for years. Leaving now is just…Draco, I can't. Not yet."_

"_Then move the house. You hate this valley. We can find some land, somewhere in Devon, perhaps. By the sea. And I'll find a way to move the garden as well." _

"_Draco…."_

"_Just think about it."_

_I say I will. I've found sometimes it's better to agree and lie, rather than start an argument resulting in one of us losing a pair of arms and gaining a pair of yellow tentacles. _

_We go back to our gentle teasing. It's a nice evening. We sit out in the twilight, sharing a half bottle of wine, some unknown label from the Malfoy wine cellar. We whisper stories back and forth, because we haven't seen each other for three days. There is so much to tell. I mention the raid on Borgin & Burkes last Tuesday, and Essay's most recent escapade. He speaks of a gala coming next month, at the Comet Center in London. _

_When he leaves, which he must, it's late, nearly one in the morning. Before he apparates, he has to bring up the ill-fated topic again. _

"_If you moved in with me, we could stay up till three." _

"_We can stay up till three tonight, but I still have work tomorrow." _

"_Move the house and I'll move in with you." _

"_What makes you think I want to live with you?" I ask coolly. _

"_Just consider, really think about it…"_

"_Leave it, Draco." I ground out dangerously. "In fact, go home. I'll see you tomorrow." I start toward the house. No goodnight kiss tonight. _

_For a moment, he stares after me. Then, complete spur-of-the-moment- "Marry me." _

_I turn 'round, giving myself whiplash. "What?" _

"_Marry me, you harpy." _

_I'm entirely speechless. Marry him? As in wed? Fully commit? White-dress-church-flowers-and-cake, that kind of "marry?" But I'm only…._

"Twenty-one."_ My father's voice snickers in my mind. _

"Long time no see."_ I tell him._

"_Um…" I've found my voice again. "Come again?"_

_Draco sighs, dropping to sit on my steps. "I want you, silly girl, to marry me. I've wanted you to for a very long time. My future is secure. We're old enough." _

"_I don't think—" My mouth is dry. I swallow and try again. "I'm not sure we're ready for that. Yet." _

"_Why?" He demands. He's still sitting, but probably not for long. "It's been two years, Keturah. You've done none of this 'Living' you claimed you wanted to do before you settled down. All you've done is buy a house, work, and garden! No traveling, nothing! The most exciting thing you've done over the last two years is buy that fucking dog!" _

"_Draco." He's being unreasonable and I tell him so. Furious, he stands, circles me. I am standing in the grass, barefoot, in my satin calico sundress. My wand is in my pocket, but I don't want to go that far. "Draco, I'm sorry. But I need time."_

"_How long?" He throws the words at me like verbal knives. There is desperation in his eyes equal to the anger in his words. "Months? Years?"_

"_Years, probably." I cringe. This is not the answer he was looking for. "Oh please, Draco. It's not like—"_

"_Three years, Keturah. We're practically already engaged. Why not just make it official?"_

"_I need time."_

_He takes a breath, hesitating. There is something serious, something important that he needs to say. "I need reassurance that I'm not wasting my time."_

"_What?" _

"_Keturah…" He holds out the silence, staring into my eyes. He knows this makes me squirm, the git. "I've got a duty to my family. Marriage is something they were expecting, I was expecting. I can't simply go on hold when you're not sure."_

"_I never said I've never marry you. I am sure. Right now is not the ideal time." I want to scream. The Malfoys are practically the only resemblance of a family that I have. _

_Draco stops his circular paces. "I need you to commit to this." _

"_I am committed." I automatically say. He shakes his head. The sleek mane of silver-blond fall into his face. It had been perfectly arranged today, until I completely mussed it up during our visit. "What are you saying? That I need to start my bid? Brand you?"_

_In these three years, we've never once said the fated end-all-be-all words "I love you." It is just not our style to express these things verbally. I thought the feeling was clear though. We may not like using the terms, but we love. We do love. _

"_The Greengrass's youngest daughter, Astoria? She's becoming very interest in me, lately." _

_I reel back. Is he…ending things? I turn away and begin to march toward the house, speechless yet again. _

"_Keturah, wait." _

"_Wait?" I spat. "I thought you wanted me to stop waiting. Have a swell time getting to know Miss Greengrass, Mr. Malfoy. I've heard she is a delightful child." _

_One thing on my mind, I storm into the house, magically locking the door behind me. I hear him outside, trying everything from Deletrius to Alohomora no success. I smile viciously. Father taught me locking spells. I learned an impenetrable one at the tender age of three, shortly before he left. Draco hit the door multiple times before his single intelligent thought hits him and he apparates inside. He is one of only three people my wards allow to apparate directly inside my home. This, I realize, needs to change. He lands with a soft _"pop"_ in my parlor. I'm in the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea. When he walks in I'm putting a couple of biscuits on to a china plate, planning to levitate the whole bit (tea pot, tea cup, plate with biscuits, and tray) all up to my bedroom. _

"_Keturah, please." His eyes are soft. There is nothing he wants so badly than for me to forgive him. However, that is not happening. Not tonight. He follows me as I levitate the tray up the steep stairway, ignoring him firmly. _

"_You have to talk to me."_

"No, I don't." _I think. Father is still laughing. _

"_You're acting like a spoilt child." _

_Now I'm the one laughing. Inside my head, but it still counts. _

"A little mad, if I'm not mistaken." _Father remarks lazily. _

"In comparison to having my dead father popping up in my head whenever he wants to chat, I'd say it is right as rain."

"_Ignoring me is not going to fix this."_

"_Oh, isn't it?" _

"_Blimey, I know you're having one of those one-sided mental conversations you always have when you're mad. Talk to me." _

_He's right about the internal part. However, it is far from one-sided. _

"_I ask you to marry me and we start fighting like children." _

_I finally do speak, once I've settled in the window seat in the attic. I just kept walking until I reached the attic loft, which is now a rather lovely sitting room. It used to be my room, until I actually owned the house. A leaded stain glass window, a circle with merry blue flowers woven around a fleu-de-lis dead center is at the front of the house, overlooking the drive. I spent many hours as a child tracing the pictures on this glass, murmuring make-believe stories. _

"_I'm not angry." I state. "I'm so past angry I'm numb."_

_He doesn't respond, simply looks at me from beneath his pale lashes, and that crop of silken hair that lies over this eyes. _

"_So you have two choices, Draco. You can leave, date Greengrass and be done with the whole mess, the exhausting effort of courting me," I sneer, letting the words drip with obvious malice. "Or you can still leave. Then come back here in a month and we'll see about patching things up."_

"_A month?" His voice sounds like gravel. _

_My voice is cold. For a brief instant, I'm reminded of my father, addressing his hoard of Death Eaters. "It will take me some time to 'get over' this one, Malfoy. "_

_With nothing left to be said, I look out the window, sipping my tea. Draco lets himself out._

I never knew what choice he decided upon.

**Drama, drama, drama. Lord. Poor Draky-poo. This was slightly foreshadowed in chapter 8, in some little offhand comment Keturah makes regarding the idea of letting Draco know she's being taken my Ministry members. **

**I know these switches between the past and present are a tad confusing. In the first chapters I used italics, but in these later ones they're not always like that. I just felt stylistically it didn't work all the time.**

**Reviews are beautiful. What are your three favorite colours?**


	11. Focus Lost

**Focus Lost**

We are forced to sit side-by-side. Harry looks between us and swiftly decides that today was probably not the best time to be interrogating us together. Little does he know, this entire month would have been a bad choice. He watches as my tapping increases, Draco's fist tighten upon the table where they lay, and the entire atmosphere alters. Murmuring something about getting us both a cup of tea, he slinks out of the room.

After a few minutes, Draco tilts his head to sneak a glance at me. He hasn't changed much since I last saw him. His hair is shorter, his robes of a lighter fabric as a result of the coming heat. He wears a silver band upon his left index finger. When I realize it is just the Malfoy crest, a ring Draco has had for years but rarely wears, I almost feel myself release my tension.

I want to slink away as well, when I see it. Instead I remain perfectly poised, legs crossed, arms folded on the table before me. My traveling cloak lies on the back of my chair. My heels tap in time with my fingers upon the scuffed tiled floors. This is torture.

He coughs. "How are you fairing, my dear?"

I turn my chin in the opposite direction. "Well. And yourself, Master Malfoy?"

Through the dead silence of the room, I can practically hear him frown. He's never liked it when I call him "Master" or "Mr. Malfoy," because when I do I am typically taunting him.

"I am content, _Keturah." _He adds unnecessary emphasis on to my name.

"Excellent." I say. "Brilliant."

"Yes."

He's staring at me now; I can feel it as I examine the ficus. When I shift slightly to peek at him myself, he slides away, staring at the plain wooden door instead.

"Any idea why they would have thrust us both in here?" He asks causally.

"Not a clue."

"Pity."

"Indeed."

A few moments pass before he breaks. "Keturah, it's been a bloody month and all you can say is _'Well?'" _His voice slips into a high falsetto impersonation of my own. "Do you know how many times I've thought about owling you? Nearly broke down your door? I went that shabby little muggle bar in that village _five times_ hoping you might show up."

"And did I?"

"Well, no, you bloody damn well didn't!"

"Hm," I shrug. "I don't remember putting that in my date book."

"Date book my arse. You could've owled me at least once to tell me you were alive."

Incredulous, I finally look at him. _"Owl _you? I'm at your house twice a week you great prat. There was no need to _owl _you!"

"I never saw you."

"Because you were out drinking!" I holler. "Or courting Greengrass. I don't know what exactly you were doing, but you were always occupied when I was about."

"I'm a busy man. And I was not courting Astoria."

"Pity, I've heard she's quite a demur beauty. Great choice for the next Malfoy breeding machine."

He sniffs. "You're acting like the idiot now. Jealous, even. Did you think I was seeing other women?"

I don't answer because Potter has returned, two cups of steaming tea in his hand. I take mine, subtly sniffing it. It's not Earl Grey this time, rather Darjeeling. From the smell emanating from Draco's, his cup contains Orange Pekoe, his favourite next to Imperial Gunpowder. Harry has become quite the politician.

"What can I help you with, Harry?" I ask. My voice is kinder, warmer.

"Yes, what is it you need from us, Potter?" Draco's voice is significantly less kind. "I haven't got all day. I'm a busy man."

"We all are, Malfoy." I'm pleased to see Draco did not get the rise he wanted from Harry. Git.

Harry looks at me. "You are both here today regarding you arrival two years ago into wizarding society. Some information has recently enlightened us as to your possibly identity. We assumed you would be interested in our theory."

I have to bite my tongue to keep from yelling, throwing out questions. Theory? Who could they have possibly spoken to? Nobody who knows is here, save the Malfoys. The rest received express tickets to Azkaban. I swallow. "Yes, I am. Interested, I mean. What have you…have you found?"

Draco's cool hands find mine underneath the table. He squeezes my fingers briefly.

"One of the Dark Lord's inner circle let something slip in an interview. He mentioned you, specifically."

"Who was it?" Draco's voice is like a whip. He stares Potter down, jaw set, gripping my wrist tightly. I squirm. He's nearly crushing the bone.

"Dolohov." Harry's voice is careless, yet he is examining Malfoy's reaction vigilantly. "He was caught, five months ago. They let me have a go at him. I walked away with some very interesting information."

"Dolohov?" Malfoy scoffs. "He was a fool. Not in the inner circle, I assure you. He did well for himself, maybe was in the upper ranks, but he had no access to such information."

"You're right." Harry admits. "He didn't. But he knew who did. Davina Gibbons knew. You are aware, I'm sure, that she received the Kiss, last month?"

Draco glances at me. "Yes, I heard." He says coldly. An older classmate of his. She was a sweet girl, I'd heard, until she joined up with that particular group.

"In the end, she was given a choice. Reveal some specific information and she received one last visited with he family, or take the Kiss. She decided to talk."

"She's half-mad." Draco is nearly breaking my wrist. "I doubt anything she said was of use to you."

"No, she gave us something rather interesting." Harry looks Draco straight in the eye. "Is Keturah Tom Marvolo Riddle's daughter?"

As if Draco's mouth is not his own, he opens his it. "Y-yes."

With that being said, I scream.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

To our surprise, Draco doesn't die. He sits, dumbfounded for a moment, very much alive. Everything is dead quiet as we stare at one another. Then:

"You could have _killed _him!" I shriek. Potter shrugs. "You bloody git, he could have _died_ if that wasn't worded properly!"

"But it was. Calm down, Keturah." He sooths. "Nothing happened."

I don't calm down. "You had no right," I seethe. "Risking his life like that. None. The Ministry might have a long arm, but Draco has done nothing wrong. That was horribly precarious, Potter!"

"You're both fine."

"Regardless." He could have died. And I would have never known if he was sorry. If he forgave me.

"Keturah, this wouldn't have happened if you were straightforward with us two years ago." Harry points out, stern.

My father had a trick I often use when upset. He would stare at the offending member for more than a solid minute. With ruby eyes, the effect is great. However, my simple blue ones don't quite have the same effect. Nevertheless, I give it a shot. A pair of firm emerald eyes meet my own.  
It's a battle, one I win. I stand. "Draco, I'm leaving."

Harry gets to the door before I do, looming over me. "Why don't you sit?"

"Yes, why don't I?" I mutter, taking my seat again.

"You want to explain yourself?"

I cross my arms. "Not particularly, no."

"She doesn't have to, not to you." Draco has finally graced us with his speech. He's glaring at Potter, finally over the original shock. I hold back a smile.

Harry considers us for a moment, united once more. "Why didn't you tell us?"

I snort, throwing my head back. "If I had told you then I would not be sitting here now. I would be in Azkaban, or worse."

"Keturah…"

"You had just killed my father." The word "father" feels clumsy on my tongue. "How could I trust you to trust me? I thought if I wanted or just avoided it altogether you would never have the chance to judge me. You could see I never meant to be his child."

Draco squeezes my hand again.

"I never asked to be his daughter." I say softly, looking at my lap. "I wasn't raised to be…what he is. I'm my own person. If anyone knew, they would never see me. They would see _him_."

"I understand." I look up to see Harry watching me, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

"I didn't lie to you. I mean, about being a Death Eater."

"What is your real name?"

"Keturah Iliana Riddle." I recite. These words too feel unfamiliar. Harry looks surprised.

"What, did you expect Satan?" I snicker. "He gave me a fairly normal name, thank the gods."

"Is there anything else you need, Potty?"

Harry rolls his eyes for the hundredth time that day. "Do you want to register under your real name?" He asks me.

I frown. Was this it? No warnings? No extension on my Watch? No arrests? "As a Riddle?"

"Yeah. Nobody knows it was him." Harry adds quickly. "You would be safe. No one would discriminate against you."

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. I know."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of." Draco hisses softly. "You are a Riddle, you can't run from it. You can be prideful of your heritage."

Harry looks as though he wants say something, but he is silent.

"I…Harry, may we…?"

Potter nods. "We may have questions for you, later."

"Fine." I say shortly. "We'll be in touch."

We leave the interrogation room and move to the atrium. I apparate straight home. The fair, young, handsome, annoying git follows. I fall onto the couch, burying my head in my hand. I hear Draco in the next room, jostling things around. He's making tea, I believe. Probably Irish Breakfast tea, the only kind we can ever agree on.

For the first time in years, my body is racked with sobs. I cast a nonverbal silencing charm upon the kitchen door, and let go. This was too much for one day. My father…my damn father. Now that Potter knows, it's doubtless the rest of the Ministry knows. I am an undesirable now. Someone to be watched, someone to be wary of.

I am _sick _of it! Never once in my life have I been simply "Keturah", someone with a clean character. I have always been seen as somebody with a sort of haunted air about them—regardless of whether they know if who I am, who my father is, they are scared. He ruined me! He destroyed every prospect I had of living a pure, free life. There will always be fear of me. There will always be prejudice against me. Escape is...impossible. If there is one thing that shall always be with me, it is my name. _Riddle. _I never had a chance! And I _hate _it. I want to created my own character, not live my life based off of who my father was. I want change.

My body heaves with the force of my cries. Tender hands fall upon my back, rubbing gently. Draco pulls me to him, murmuring comforts. I accept him, letting go fully. Nothing can be done, so I just release.

Twenty minutes late, I am no longer weeping, but laying on top of him, sniffing occasionally. His hands are on my hips, tracing thin circles with his thumbs. The kettle went off ages ago, but I summoned it and the leaves and the cups and the tea pot in here, determined to have at least one cup. I sip the brew, not even noticing the flavor until I've finished. He made me Darjeeling. He _hates_ Darjeeling.

"You can be proud, you know." Draco says into my hair.

I shift to gaze up at him. "What?"

"You can be proud of your name."

"There is nothing to be proud of. He is universally hated. He killed hundreds of people, tortured many more. He ruined my life. I can't be proud of that."

"Maybe not," He agrees in whispers. "but you do know he was still a talented, gifted wizard. Great. Powerful."

"That doesn't forgive what he's done. Nothing can erase that."

"No, nothing ever will." He's quiet for a moment. "He did do one great thing. One good thing."

"Right. Die."

Draco barks a laugh. "No, although many would consider that good. He did do something truly good. Truly great."

"What, then?" I ask, impatient.

"He created you."

If anything could have gotten him off the hook, it was that. I slid myself up his chest to plant a firm kiss on his cheek. Completely chaste. Sweet, even. He's smug, but I ignore the smirk. Instead I stand, pulling him to his feet with me. I'm silent as I lead him up the stairs and then into my bedroom, where I close the door slowly, pressing my back to it as I look at him. He's lost weight since I last saw him, maybe gained some colour. I continue my lack of speech as I move toward him, stop less than a foot from him, and begin to unbutton his crisp white shirt. He doesn't speak either, just rest his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. Eventually our combined breathing is even with one another. He unzips my skirt with one hand pressed into the small of my back. I turn to face him, clad only in my bra and panties. And the long day begins.

**Oh my! I love how the paragraph started with "chaste" and ends with "bra and panties."**

**What is your favorite movie?**

**Reviews would be awesome! One chapter left, btw.**


	12. The Roads to Hell Follow Good Intentions

**The Roads to Hell Follow Good Intentions**

We wake around nine o'clock that evening, cradling each other. I do the math in my head. I arrived at Ministry at eight…left around eleven or eleven thirty…finished crying probably around two…I cringe. No wonder I am so sore.

Draco lies beside me, one arm around my waist, the other in my hair. He's awake, but keeps his eyes closed. A sheet of white-blond hair is draped across his lean face. I sweep it away. His eyes flutter open, black pupils meeting mine the instant the lids stop moving. He focuses on me, blinking in the darkness.

"What time is it?"

"Nine." I say quietly.

He moans, rubbing his back."We should do this more often."

I roll my eyes. "Please. The only reason this happened is because I was a little emotional unstable."

"Okay. Sure." His smirk is entirely evil. I slap him lightly. "Oy, that was uncalled for, Miss Riddle."

I slap him again, this time harder. He yelps, ducking under the covers.

"Gods, woman! Was that necessary?"

"Sorry," I'm blushing. "Natural reaction."

"To your own bloody name?"

Glaring, I pull the covers off of him. We begin a childish tug-of-war between the blanket as I speak. "I've spent the last two years fearing my own damn surname, Draco. It's natural to defend myself when I hear it."

"Defend yourself?" He laughs. "I was the one who needed defending!" I can see the ripples of his firm, horridly pale chest ever so often when I give a particularly vigorous tug. It's incentive to pull harder.

"I believe your hair can do that for you."

He scowls, blowing the mussed locks out of his eyes. "My hair is perfectly fine, Miss—Astra. It is just styled. Much better than yours, might I add."

"That is only because you spend twice as much time on it as I do, prick. Besides, mine is at least three times longer than yours."

"I concede." He lets go of the blanket, allowing me to topple off of the bed. Laughing, he slides to my side of the bed, peeking over the edge. Upon seeing my disgruntled expression, he tips over to give me a long, charming, extremely satisfying kiss.

"Good boy." I whisper.

"I know." He says, bringing me back to bed.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The following morning, we're in the kitchen. I'm attempting to make breakfast. Today I'm actually doing a fair job—my typical level is heavily burnt. It is time like these I wish Draco could cook. But, being the classic spoiled rich boy, he is inept in all domestic life rituals apart from the actual consumption of the food. Which makes his weight loss surprising. Well, he practically starves himself when dining with me (with good reason).

"You know," He says, voice suspiciously casual. "I rather missed you, darling."

I raise my eyebrows in unspoken astonishment. Fake astonishment. Of course he missed me.

While I pour him a fresh cup of tea, the prat clears his throat. Draco proceeds to repeat the action after I turn back to the stove. I ignore him. When he does it a third time I am forced to respond.

"What," I growl. "do you want?"

Draco feigns a wounded expression. "I just proclaimed my feelings loud and clear. Must you be so petulant? Many women would be overjoyed to have such an expressive male. Aren't your lot always whining about how their fellows never talk to them?"

"While a number of females resign themselves to that pointless activity quite often, none of 'my lot' is ridiculous enough." I go back to the stove, flipping the sausage.

A few minutes later he asks: "Did you miss me, Keturah?"

"Miss you?"

"Regret my absence, perhaps?" He sounds very hopeful.

"Mmm."

"Keturah…"

"What?"

"Answer."

"Answer what?"

He scowls, nostrils flaring. "The original question."

"I'm sorry, darling, this heat is making me so inattentive. What was it you asked?"

"Did you miss me?"

I sigh. "Oh, I don't know…perhaps. A little. Maybe."

The smile he hides behind his _Prophet _is horridly haughty. I slam another piece of toast on to his plate, glowering.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

He's been here for over twenty-four hours and refuses to leave. I keep posing ideas of why he might want to return to the Manor. For instance, his bed is more comfortable. The food is much better and served regularly. He can put his feet up on the furniture there. The gardens are more to his liking.

Of course, it's only after I shell out this list of reasons that he's informed me he has moved out and has his own flat in London. I throw the nearest book at him. The great prick.

Draco laughs, catching my wrists as I fling my fists. "I thought maybe you would appreciate it if every time you visited me, you didn't have to deal with my parents breathing down our necks."

"And?" He's leaving something out, I can tell.

We're in the library. Still holding my wrist, Draco backs me into the Edwardian couch. I attempt to free myself, but the prick flips me over the thing. I land on my back. Growling, I blow a lock of hair from my eyes, struggling to sit up. He grins sheepishly. "I also believed perhaps you would consider moving in with me. The flat is near your shop, you see."

I'm completely floored. Astounded. Flabbergasted. No number of adjectives can fill the amount of shock I am experiencing from his simple statement. I'm propped up on my elbows, jaw slack. He won't stop smiling.

"Oh. Oh my. I did not expect that."

"I know." He chuckles.

"You did that? For me?" He loves the Manor. Adores it. He can't have just moved out. Not for that. For me.

"Of course, Keturah. It is only temporary. We could get something bigger, later. If you would want. I mean, we could—"

"Would you be willing to move here?" I interrupt, sitting up.

Draco visibly winces. "Maybe not here."

"At least you're honest."

"Sometimes." He allows. "You could keep it, though. Perhaps rent it out."

"Use the place as a summer country home?" I'm excited now. The idea is very lovely. Aunt Cissa would see it as very stylish.

"Ah, we can discuss it."

I stare. "Draco, you really did this. You honestly bought your own home."

"I wouldn't claim I 'honestly' did anything." He winks. "But yes, I did."

"Oh, Draco." I hate the way I sound like a simpleton, a flutter-hearted girl. But I do not hate that nearly as much as the way I fling myself upon him to kissing the stunned young man fully on the mouth. Pulling back I laugh. "Will you marry me?"

He doesn't answer, merely gapes at me, entirely dazed.

"Draco? Did you comprehend that?"

Draco snaps out of it, focusing his eyes to narrow them. "What did you say?"

"Marry me." I breathe.

"I thought—"

Before he can finish, I kneel on my cushions with my knees to seal his lips with mine. Draco is left gasping. I pull him closer, my hands on his collar. Against my lips, I feel him smile. His mouth is hot, just like the first time he kissed me. I thought it tasted liked he's just taken a Pepper-up potion. With how cool his skin is, this surprised me. Eventually, I pull myself away.

"You didn't want to marry me a month ago." He accuses.

What can I say? I shrug. "I had a change of heart."

"What kind of change?"

"I don't know, Draco. I decided I wanted to settle. To see you finally move out—" He rolls his eyes. "-well, that was a part of it. Not to mention recent events."

"Hmm." He appears to be musing. "I am not entirely sure if I'm ready to marry you."

"Draco!"

He laughs at me while I cross my arms, huffy. "I would accept your proposal, but unfortunately I myself asked a lovely girl for her hand in marriage."

"Surely she did not accept you?"

"Aha, she did not. My wounded heart cannot allow me to—"

Pulling back from my second kiss, I whisper: "That fix things?"

Draco rewards me with one of his trademark smirks. "I do believe so."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It is evening. We're in bed, holding one another just like last night. The summer air floats into the room through the window, rustling the silk drapes Draco's mother insisted be in my room. I inhale the sweetness of my garden. The labor I've donated to the flowers makes the scent even more pleasurable. Draco's hands rest on my waist. He is completely out, snoring lightly. One if his thin legs is between both of mine.

I don't know when I've ever been happier. I am engaged. I'm moving to London, but I can keep my house. Draco and I are no longer fighting. My secret is out, but I'm not going to Azkaban. Things are splendid. Nearly perfect. Brilliant! Love-

For a moment I feel like I am fall. Darkness closes around me in an instant. I claw and kick. Had I fallen into a bad dream? Did I lose my sight?

"Draco, oh gods, Draco!" I scream. I reach for him, but my fingers meet only air, fluid and cold.

"Silence, girl."

I fling myself around (when did I stand?)to look at the tall, cloaked, menacing figure. He holds a long, thin yew wand, which he twirls. One beam of weak light lights the vast space. He steps closer into it, exposing his pale, gaunt face. His features are fine. The nose straight, the eyes a deep blue-gray, the cheekbones high and regal. Looking at him, ones natural instinct is to move closer. He is entirely beautiful, in an almost scary way.

Suddenly, the darkness fades away, features of the location being revealed piece by piece.

We're standing in a large hall. Double oak doors stand to the west, a grand marble staircase to the east. At the top of those stairs is a shield with several crests upon it; a lion, an eagle, a serpent and a badger. The floor is flagstone. Torches line the walls, going all the way up to the ceiling, which is enormous. A row of hourglasses filled with various gemstones are in the east corner—rubies, emeralds, sapphires and topaz. It is the colours that clue me in. We're at Hogwarts, or some illusion of Hogwarts.

"What do you want?"

The man calmly regards me. He pulls his hood back using one spidery hand, revealing a full head of wavy black hair, groomed perfectly with a part slightly to the right. His stormy eyes are alight with interest, curiosity.

"Why did you bring me here?" I demand. He still doesn't reply. "I'm not supposed to be here."

With this statement, he gives a loud snort. "No one is ever supposed to be anywhere. Humans were a mistake of evolution. It is pointless statement, my dear."

I square my shoulders. "What do you want?" I repeat.

He smiles, easing his way away from me, moving closer to the staircase. The blue eyes focus upon the shield. Toward the staircase he says, "To see you."

"Yes, but why?"

Facing me, he lifts one brow. "Why ever not?"

"You do not belong here either." I remind him.

"There are many places I have gone where I did not belong. This is the least of them." He waves one hand dismissively. "Why do you not welcome me, Keturah?"

"Because, you shouldn't be here. You should've left by now!" I'm frustrated. He cannot make a single thing easy; he must always go about it the hardest way. "It is time for you to move on. Go."

He lowers his voice. "I could not leave until I knew you were happy, my dear."

I let out a cruel laugh. "Okay. Sure. I'm happy now, you can leave. In fact, I am almost certain I will be truly at my happiest if you were to move on."

"Keturah, it is not that simple. Surely you will not leave without giving me a proper goodbye?"

"I didn't before." I cross my arms. "And I do not need to now."

He examines me for several seconds. "No, no I don't believe you do. You've already made your farewells, have you not? "

"Well, there was no need to wait."

The man lets out a long breath, leaning against the marble banister. "I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to love me."

"You never made any effort toward either when you were alive." I accuse. "So I don't see any point in letting you waste your time now. You can't love, so why should I love you? I was happiest when I was alone, so why bother me now?"

He is silent. We just look at each other. He's lost, probably for the first time in his life. This is a man who always knew where he was, where he was going, who he was….

"Are you even sorry?" I ask. "For all the pain you've caused?"

He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "Don't lie, it won't make me feel any better."

The man swallows. "No. I did everything I set out to do. I nearly succeeded. I could have won. I do not regret a single second."

"What are you going to do now?"

He shrugs, as casual and graceful as ever. "Whatever I need to do. Move on or…" He lets the words drift off, leaving open possibilities in their wake. _"Find a way to come back?" _I almost ask.

"I…" My throat is dry. He's right, it is time to say goodbye.

"Live the life you want to live, Keturah. Do not let anyone's past conflict with your future, especially not mine. I never wanted that for you. I realize you believe that I did not care, but I swear to you your future and safety were one of my greatest concerns."

I cannot say anything to this. He could mean every word, but then again he could be easily lying. I avoid his eyes.

"Contrary to your belief, you were no mistake, my dear. I wanted you." His voice is velvety, a soft whisper of truth.

This one causes my eyes to snap up to his. The blue-gray orbs meet mine with such ferocity of emotions I step back. He can't be telling the truth. I was an accident. A disappointment of an accident. He hadn't wanted anything to do with children—

"Maybe not." He admits. "But you were not to stay a child forever. In time, I had thought perhaps—" But he stops. "You should go."

"Why?" I ask.

The man smirks. "Weren't you just asking why you should stay? My, you've barely changed."

"Two years is not so long."

"No, no it is not. But it is eternity in this place. Go. Marry your Malfoy, establish yourself. But first…" He crosses to me, holding out one long-finger pale hands in an offering. I tentatively place my own in his. My fingers are long as well, though there is little comparison. His are achingly graceful, where as mine just appear skinny.

He strokes the back of my hand gently before putting the tip of his wand to the left ring finger. There is a bright, blinding flash of light around my hands and then….He covers the spot with his own palms. Typical.

"A trinket." He says. "A gift. For what I could never give you in life. Take care, Keturah."

"I will." I tell him.

Father smiles sincerely. "I know. Goodbye."

Before I can speak again, the darkness falls around us, much like smoke. The scenery of Hogwarts almost melts away and I am again lying with Draco feeling the cool breeze against my exposed legs. I move my hand from across my stomach to look at this so-called "trinket."

Two brilliant rings sit on my finger. The first is a heavy gold thing, with a diamond-shaped black stone. There is a crack in the stone, but that does not hide the image of a triangle with a circle through it, one line cutting the center of both. It is a man's ring. The second is a great deal smaller and silver. An oval diamond is set in the center, along with a pair of sapphires on either side.

I remove the man's ring to slide it on Draco's finger, beside his family crest. He will be surprised, I'm sure. I had not planned on buying one for him. He will probably be upset that the ring I now possess was not given to me by him. Eventually I'll make him see it's nothing personal. Besides, I am certain he will buy me tons of jewelry without asking in the future.

"Father." I say softly. "Thank you."

The night breeze beckons me to sleep. I comply, and dream of the dawns of another day.

**Finished! Oh yeah, I am da bomb!**

**I know this is finished, but reviews are still greatly appreciated. Please, please, please tell me what you think! Last I checked I had around 900 hits, and 14 reviews. Can we make that ratio a bit more even? Say, 50 reviews for every 200?**

**This wasn't planned, it was a spark of inspiration that was supposed to be a one-shot. When that one-shot hit over 15000 words, I decided maybe it ought to be a chaptered piece. I've wanted to write a Voldy-related fiction in forever. It's been a complete joy. **

**Thank you so much to my constant reviewers! Deranged-Genius, you were like my cheerleader and I probably would've left the whole thing at chapter 3 if it weren't for you. **

**This is dedicated to Brightfrost. **


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